


When the World's Unkind

by NightjarPatronus



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - With Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Happy Ending, Mentions of past childhood neglect, Mild intoxication, Past Arranged Marriage, There is only one cabin, Villain Death, mentions of past minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 95,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightjarPatronus/pseuds/NightjarPatronus
Summary: The king is assassinated, and Josh is a wanted suspect. To save her friend, Fen crosses the border and enters Stormhold, the kingdom of magicians. Instead, her hovercraft locates Princess Margo, who has fled her coronation to seek her own answers. Now allies, Fen and Margo search for the truth and find romance along the way. This is a story of underground vigilantism, a flying ship, ladies in shining armor, and the origins of magic.Based on Prompt 53:Stardust(2007).
Relationships: Fen & Josh Hoberman, Fen & Julia Wicker, Fen/Julia Wicker (past), Fen/Margo Hanson, Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh
Comments: 64
Kudos: 7
Collections: Magicians Happy Ever After





	1. The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for MHEA When the World's Unkind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445202) by [Doomkitty25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doomkitty25/pseuds/Doomkitty25). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> 2020 has been a clusterfuck of a year so far. I wrote this fic in the hopes of giving you all a little taste of sweet shippiness. This story has been my brainchild for the past five months and I may or may not have sold my Shade to Persephone get it all done.
> 
> A big thank-you to my beta, LilyAceofDiamonds, who is endlessly patient about my plot rambles at ungodly hours of the night. Without you, the glorious mess of this story would not exist. (Plus the obligatory disclaimer as always: all the things have been beta-reviewed, and any mistakes you find are my own.)
> 
> And a round of virtual hugs to my artist partner, Doomkitty25, who created [three beautiful illustrations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445202) for the story that has grown so close to my heart. Please waltz on over to her post and give her some well-deserved love and appreciation, because we share the glory and burden of this giant fic on our conscience :D. You'll find the illustrations in chapters 2, 8, and 11.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

Most people who live in Wall believe the Museum of Alternate Truths has always been part of the village, built alongside family cottages and shops with the same fired bricks and concrete. But no one can remember the museum’s history—namely, how many times it had changed ownership over the two-hundred-and-thirty years since the village first appeared on maps, and to who. 

Those who have visited the first and second floors can recall the most remarkable artifacts on display and have distinct memories of collections going on and off display, changing as organically as the seasons. Aside from these memories, however, no one can recall an exhibit from this museum past the ten-year mark for the life of them. The museum’s current owner, an enigmatic woman named Harriet, would chuckle whenever someone brings up her predecessors and say she has promised to keep their secret. 

The truth is simpler than one would expect, so simple that it can all be explained by the existence of magical illusions. Harriet had discovered this village ten years ago and made her home here, and her power has integrated her into Wall’s past and present. The museum used to be a large family home that Harriet had purchased under a false identity from its last owner, who retired and moved to a vacation house near the south coast. 

Harriet can count the people who know the museum’s true history with her own two hands. Fen and Julia are some of those people.

* * *

Fen remembers loving Julia as if it happened yesterday. At seventeen, they had their first kiss under the glass dome at the Museum of Alternate Truths. Tonight, three years later, they share a picnic beneath the same dome, in clear view of a sky full of stars and free of rain. 

All is quiet inside the museum. Harriet has left the place in Julia’s charge to attend an auction, hoping to acquire a portrait of Bacchus in acrylic, which was commissioned by the God himself. Silver, who was normally in charge of acquisition, has left home five months ago like the other wards who have aged out of Harriet’s care.

Julia is the only one who stays, both out of love for the woman who raised her and for her own protection. The illusions around Wall makes the village impossible to find. Here Julia is safe to practice magic, a power she had stolen to save herself.

“Show me what Fogg taught you,” Fen says.

She hands Julia a pair of flint rocks. The rocks were excavated from the crater where the asteroid hit and nearly destroyed human civilization and still contain the collision’s energy. A year ago, they were on display in the East Wing as part of Harriet’s rare stones exhibit.

The flame rises following the first strike and centers itself into the firewood Fen had gathered in a pyre. Julia hovers her hands above it and closes her eyes, channeling her desire into the spell, keeping the fire alight. Meta-composition is all about understanding and manipulating the theories behind magic, a reactive discipline that can give her control over any human magic in proximity with enough practice. Though it has only been two weeks since Julia discovered her discipline, her level of control is astounding.

Fen moves closer to watch the flame rise and fall under Julia’s hands. “This is incredible.”

“It’s nothing.” Julia pulls her hands away.

“ _Jules_ ,” Fen pleads.

The look in Julia’s eyes is familiar, a regret that comes and goes when Fen watches her practice. Fen had come to peace with Julia’s betrayal, but Julia finds it harder to forgive herself. She has to live with the stolen magic that now runs in her veins, a physical manifestation of her guilt. 

“I should stick to runes,” Julia says. She dispels the fire with a quick wind rune, tracing a glowing symbol in the air before touching it with her fingertips to release the command. “This meta-composition discipline has to be a fluke. My kind of magic doesn’t allow that.”

“It’s not a fluke. I can feel it working.”

“I’m done for today.”

They finish their picnic with the conversation half-settled, no longer in the mood to chat. If Josh were here, he would have filled the room with unending chatter about the raccoons who stole the freshly-baked apple crumble from the window of his family’s bakery, or the ripe tomatoes growing in his backyard that he will harvest in two weeks, or new recipes that incorporate pigeon meat… There is no such thing as a dull conversation with a Hoberman, but three years ago, Josh was captured and sent to live across the border in the Kingdom of Stormhold. 

Stormhold has a full magician population, and for Josh, who possesses such a gift, it is supposedly the only place in the world where he is welcome. But Fen and Julia had known about his magic since they were twelve and he was thirteen. Mr. and Mrs. Hoberman had been aware of it when they adopted him. Harriet knew, too, and so did the children in her shelter. To the rest of the village, Josh was an eccentric guy with a green thumb and a passion for cooking. No matter how much anyone has known about Josh, he had been impossible to hate and accepted by all. And yet he was seized by the Order of Reclamations, a group of bounty hunters endorsed by the King of Stormhold himself, under the guise of taking him to a place where he belonged.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here,” Fen says when they finish eating.

“I don’t understand why you care so much.” Julia shakes her head and looks up at the sky through the dome. “Considering what I did, you should be a little more selfish.”

Fen moves to sit by Julia’s side and joins in on the stargazing. “I felt selfish about my decision to let you fight alone. You’re not the only one angry at yourself.”

“There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?” 

“Afraid not.”

That, at least, gets a smile out of Julia. They have had this discussion a handful of times, each time yielding the same result. The bottom line is they both have their own regrets, but what was done was done.

A shooting star glides through the sky, the timing too fitting to be a mere coincidence. Julia watches it with wide eyes. “When I was a kid, I used to make a wish every time I saw one of those.”

“Did it ever work?” Fen asks.

“Nope.”

Fen closes her eyes all the same, though she longer expects the star to follow through with its promise. What’s there to lose by making a wish? There is so much she could ask for, so many people that she and Julia had lost. But Josh had been their most recent loss. The only one they share. So Fen wishes for a way to find him, then opens her eyes.

The star blinks once in the sky before it disappears in the distance.

“I’ve been thinking,” Fen breaks the silence again, “what if we give this another try? Us?”

Fen sees the rejection in Julia’s eyes before she speaks. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“That’s-that’s okay. I just thought I’d ask.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I was… I shouldn’t have asked.”

“We’re growing apart,” Julia says, and offers her hand for Fen to hold. “I can’t promise you another chance someday, because I don’t know.”

“We’re still friends.” Fen squeezes her hands once. “That won’t change.”

“Of course it won’t.”

This was where Fen had first fallen in love with Julia, underneath the sky, sheltered by the place Julia calls home. They had avoided the attic for this very reason in the eleven months since their break-up, but tonight Fen has foolishly suggested they spend time here like they used to. She has thought it’d be better to know if they have another chance. Now she wishes she hasn’t asked.

They walk downstairs with the picnic basket and empty plates and wash the dishes before bed. Fen sends a quick message to her dad, telling him she’s spending the night at Julia’s. They share the bed from the pullup couch, each wrapped in separate blankets. Fen keeps Julia company on the nights Harriet is out of town—in case the illusion drops, sure, but mostly because the house feels too empty with the other kids gone.

“I still love you, you know,” Julia says before they sleep. _But not in the same way,_ is implied.

“I know.” Fen closes her eyes and forces back her tears. She has cried enough over the indescribable mess that had become their relationship. “I love you, too. That won’t change.”

And she means it. Julia has been her friend long before they had fallen in love. The love they have as friends will never cease, and Fen will not lose Jules in this way for insisting upon a romance they no longer have.

But staying good friends doesn’t mean Fen is ready to move on. Fen has never been good at losing things. After Josh was taken, seized by Everett’s cronies, and sent to live in the Kingdom of Stormhold across the border, Julia had become Fen’s whole life. Through the shared loss, they had grown closer to fill the void their friend had left behind. For two years, they had found an escape in romantic bliss. And five weeks after their breakup, they had rekindled their friendship, not wanting to lose each other in more ways than one. 

Fen had tried to let go of her romance with Julia. She did. She had cut her hair short, for one, because Julia used to braid her hair before every hunting excursion for the chance to sneak in kisses at the nape of her neck. But even though Fen is happy with her new look, her heart cannot accept the makeover as quickly as a mirror.

They say goodnight and fall asleep facing each other, feeling some semblance of peace after declaring their love as friends. Six hours later, they wake up to a state emergency alert on their wristbands. Fen activates the newsfeed, and a hologram of Tick Pickwick, an advisor to the King of Stormhold, emerges with a grave look on his face. 

_“King Raymond has been assassinated,” Tick says. “If anyone has information about the suspect, please come forward.”_

Fen thinks the emergency will not change her life in any way, but she’s wrong.


	2. Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is a hunting scene, and a brief mention of wild animal death because of that.
> 
> With the blessings of [Doomkitty25, the artist herself](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doomkitty25/pseuds/Doomkitty25), I have included the relevant illustration she made for this chapter. You'll find the other two in chapters 8 and 11 :)

The snare is buried beneath a layer of mud and twigs and fallen leaves. Fen waits for the pheasant to cross the path on its way to find water at the stream a fifteen-minute trek ahead, mentally tracing the other snares laid along that familiar path. Julia sits on a higher branch above Fen, both women camouflaged by the colorful leaves that have yet to fall. They don’t speak, only fix their eyes on the impending target from high above.

All is quiet except the rustling of leaves and branches as it rains for the third time this week. Fen leans forward from her vantage point, squinting in anticipation of the unsuspecting creature. A boom of thunder drowns out the screech of the pheasant as the snare shuts and yanks itself up into the air, the magnets at the corners of the net snapping together to secure the animal in place. This commotion forces a squirrel to dart out from its shelter on another tree across the small clearing. It skitters across a branch and jumps.

Before the squirrel can latch on to the next tree, Fen pulls a dagger from her belt and thrusts it with a flick of her wrist.

The branch beneath Fen wobbles at her motion. Fen steadies herself and looks up as the rain shifts from a drizzle to a steady downpour. Julia beams at her, then shuffles to the trunk and climbs down. Fen follows after one last look at the sky. It’s getting dark, and soon she and Julia will be caught in another storm. No rain jacket can protect them from being soaked if they’re still outdoors when that happens. 

“Good shot,” Julia says. She lowers their snare and holds the still-closed net to her side, ignoring the pheasant’s thrashing inside.

Fen beams. “I never miss.”

Fen fetches the squirrel from across the clearing. Her dagger has hit it straight in the eye. It lays unmoving on the ground where it has fallen. She cleans off her beloved knife and tucks it back to its holster on her belt next to the two other blades she always carries, then packs away the fresh game after the squirrel a silent thanks for its sacrifice. 

They continue on their way to Fogg’s treehouse, securing the hood of their rain jackets. Their other traps will have to wait. Hopefully, some innocent hog will have stumbled across it in the dead of the night for them to find tomorrow. Julia holds the thrashing pheasant in hand and talks to Fen about improvements she wants to make to the snare, her latest pet project. The ropes are made of galvanized cables woven together, practically unbreakable under any knife. This winter should be better than the last—plenty of food to freeze, and money to spare for the upcoming months.

Fen lets Jules ramble on, her friend’s words becoming a blur as her mind wanders back to the emergency announcement from the night before. King Raymond of Stormhold has been assassinated. The king has made many enemies in his time, but Fen has never expected someone to succeed in taking his life. And with the suspect still unknown and at large, Princess Margo, his only heir, will have to sleep with one eye open. Her coronation is tonight. No one knows if the killer plans to come back to finish her off.

“Hey.” Julia stops in her tracks and turns to face Fen. “You okay?”

“Sorry.” Fen forces a smile.

“I know.” Julia shakes her head and gives her a sympathetic look. “Things are going to shit in Stormhold. I hope—”

Julia doesn’t finish her thought, but Fen knows what it is that she doesn’t want to say out loud. It’s not only Josh that Julia worries about. There is another person Julia had left behind when she was forcibly brought to Filmore at thirteen years old. Quentin.

It has been too long since Fen and Julia last heard an update about how they were. Quentin and Josh used to work at Castle Blackspire. Harriet had received this update from an anonymous source not long after Josh's capture. But two years ago, they had found an escape—no details regarding where, or how, only that they are out of touch. None of Harriet’s contacts have heard from them since.

“I’m worried about them, too,” Fen admits. 

* * *

Henry Fogg teaches at the village schoolhouse that used to be a temple to worship the Gods Ember and Umber, built by the maenads to withstand centuries of ridiculous weather. Outside of his work, Fogg is a total recluse, and to discourage potential visitors, he has built his house high up on a tree amid the Darkling Woods.

The wards surrounding his treehouse make it impossible to find. But Fen and Julia are exceptions because they know of their teacher’s past and the magic he hides from the other villagers’ prying eyes. 

The treehouse comes into view when Fen and Julia trek into the wards’ range, and the web of runic formulas light up as they walk through. Fen and Julia climb up the ladder and walk across the landing. The door of the treehouse is open ajar, anticipating the fresh game they have promised to bring. Fogg’s home is the same size as a comfortable family cottage, save for the large trunk running through the center. The space inside is expanded to accommodate his furniture and books, primarily the latter, filling the shelves on an entire wall. With additional runes carved into the floorboards that make up the base, magic renders everything weightless so the tree won’t collapse with the weight of an entire home sitting on top.

Fogg is pacing around the fireplace when they enter, reading a book that suspends in midair and turns its own pages. A diagram glows beneath it to demonstrate how the spell is done: six glowing runes forming a circle, specifying the boundaries of this casting. This is one instance of spells among dozens all around the treehouse, the magic orchestrating Fogg’s daily routine like it has a mind of its own.

As a once-renowned knowledge magician, Fogg has no need to observe the specifications behind his spells. He had kept the runes invisible until he began teaching Julia eleven months ago when he had unveiled everything so Julia could see practical applications of the theories and symbols he made her memorize. And though Julia is reluctant to practice a gift that she does not believe she deserves, the runes have appealed to her natural curiosity and convinced her to delve into the form of magic that is more practice than instinct.

“I hope you’ve brought a wild boar.” Fogg lifts the spell that holds up his book and catches it before sliding it back onto the bookshelf. 

“No such luck. You know that’s exceptionally rare,” Fen says. 

Fen unloads the backpack full of fresh game with Julia’s help and packs half of them into Fogg’s freezer. The other half will be sold tomorrow to the butcher at Wishmaster Square, who eagerly awaits the extra stock to prepare for the Fall Equinox celebrations in four days. The celebrations mark the tail end of their most bountiful hunting season. Winter is a disappointing season for hunting excursions as too many creatures go into hibernation.

But it is not winter yet, and today is a good day in terms of fresh meat. Holidays are the best time to make extra money, even if King Raymond’s assassination last night has put a damper on any festive mood Fen might have had. 

While Julia and Fogg fall into a discussion on Sunderland’s Law of Metallurgy as they chop up carrots and potatoes. Fen slays the pheasant with a quick stab of the knife that kills it without further anguish and listens to the conversation for information pertaining to knifemaking. The food should last three days until the next time Fen and Julia visit, payment for his magic lessons, though he insists he will continue to teach in the name of the friendship they have unwittingly formed over the years. 

The king’s assassination stays on Fen’s mind throughout dinner as she pokes around her pheasant stew. Though Stormhold is no ally of the Republic of Filmore, where Fen was born and raised, it is no longer an enemy. The world has been at relative peace since the War, named as such because it is the only War in history. The War has ended with the continent of Filmore divided in two. All the magicians have relocated north after Stormhold has declared itself independent, separating and warding themselves from people who consider them a threat.

“It has to be a mistake,” Julia says. 

“The magic lives on as an extension of you,” Fogg says. “Your method of acquisition does not interfere with its path.”

The mention of disciplines brings Fen’s attention back to the conversation she has tuned out. She nods in support of what Fogg is saying, and Julia looks away from them both. Julia had discovered her discipline in meta-composition by accident during training when she deflected a jet of light back to Fogg on instinct rather than a deliberate command with a rune. But she is reluctant to practice her newfound instinct.

It is one thing for Julia to accept that magic is now part of her, but embracing the power would feel like a betrayal to the Julia that had spent years building a life without magic after Stormhold rejected her for not possessing this gift. Some people have found ways to procure magic of their own: a group of outlaws who call themselves the Order of Reclamation, who give themselves the power by taking water from the Wellspring, the source of all human magic. They believe that everyone is entitled to this gift, not just the ones who were born lucky. But these same people had ruined Julia’s life. The last thing Julia wanted was to be like them.

Fen understands Julia’s reasons for rejecting her new potential, but it is still frustrating to watch her punish herself. 

“You’re not alone,” Fen reminds her, touching her arm. “Zelda got her magic the same way, and she found her discipline, too. She has done so much to help the world. To help us. You have the power to do the same.”

Fogg exchanges a look with Fen, and neither of them brings up the elephant in the room. Even members of the Order of Reclamation find their disciplines, including their leader Everett, and their intentions are far from noble. They siphon magic from the source for personal use, draining the supply of ambient energy across the lands. 

“Why do I need my discipline?” Julia asks. “Why can’t I master the runes and be done with it?”

“The runes, as I’ve mentioned during our first lesson, are known as the Language of the Gods,” Fogg says. “This language was taught to the first magicians by the Gods themselves. Over the years, human magicians discovered disciplines—ways in which their magic diverges from the magic of other humans and the magic of other beings that the Gods created. Today runes are a lost art; many magicians do not study them. They overlook its practical applications in favor of the instinctive side of their powers.”

“That sounds limiting,” Julia says. 

“I agree. I don’t believe it is wise to abandon runes in favor of magic that’s unique to oneself, but I understand their bias. Some magical beings, like the nymphs, have an intrinsic understanding of runes far greater than humans can hope to achieve with a lifetime of study. Other beings, like the fairies, are born with powers that they can channel instinctively, with great control. But the nymphs and the fairies—all other beings except humans—are born with powers that do not differentiate from the magic of their peers. Human magic is special because we make it personal. This makes us unpredictable, but it also opens us to the greatest possibility for growth.”

With a snap of his fingers, Fogg snuffs out the flames burning in his fireplace. He uses no runes to demonstrate this, only a connection between his mind and the human-inflicted magic that has once kept the fire burning. 

“So you can punish yourself for stealing magic, Julia, even if self-pity can’t do shit to help you, and what’s done is done,” he says. His tone is gentle, but his eyes glare daggers, enough to make Julia squirm in her seat. “But do not limit your future by denying the part of you that exists whether you like it or not. A wise magician will embrace both forms of magic that they are capable of—their discipline and the runes. Once you find out what the fuck you can do with both, you are free to abandon whichever form you decide to hate. For now, drop the bullshit.”

“Fine,” Julia says, stabbing a piece of potato in her stew with her fork. “I’ll learn. You happy?”

“Good.”

With that conversation settled, Fogg devours his stew and steers the conversation toward nicer topics: Julia’s hunter traps and Fen’s knives, all the inventions that provide their livelihood. They help out at the Hoberman’s bakery but never accept the payment offered to them. Josh may be gone, but his parents are still family to them. They all share his loss, though only Fen and Julia share the guilt of letting him get captured. 

Fen is halfway through her account of her latest findings from Wishmaster Square’s bazaar last weekend—a set of sunstones that will pair well with her newest trio of daggers—when an alarm blares through the sound system fixed to the underside of the roof. She startles and looks around to see the computer monitor at Fogg’s desk light up with a simple message on the screen: _one hour to curfew._

“What,” Julia says, echoing Fen’s sentiment, “the fuck.”

“Ahh! Yes.” Fogg walks over to his desk and types in a command code, which silences the alarm. “I set an alarm in case we lose track of time. I was going to tell you—must’ve slipped my mind. It’s time for you to leave. Takes a while to make it out of these woods. You’ve got a head start. Get inside before ten.”

“But why?” Fen asks.

“You haven’t heard?”

Julia raises her arm and points to her wristband, which shows a blank screen with just a clock and no network signals. Hunting excursions into the Darkling Woods are an escape from all the news alerts that follow Filmore’s citizens wherever they go, thanks to the government-issued wristbands that everyone received two years back, courtesy of the McAllister administration. Fogg has rigged his own wristband with Harriet’s help, silencing all alerts so he has control over when he wants to see them. The treehouse runs on its own proxy with a signal tower that hovers above the trees, powered by runes. With this setup, Fogg has the freedom to choose whether to check out the news or steer clear. 

Fogg unlocks his computer and shows them the latest news update: the suspect for King Raymond’s assassination is still unknown, and the police department in Filmore has issued a curfew to all provinces that share Stormhold’s border. The curfew is effective starting today and will go on indefinitely until a suspect is captured to stand trial for high treason. All civilians must be back in their houses by ten o’clock at night. Surveillance bots, usually used only in large cities for security, have been activated and dispatched to the affected provinces north of the nation to supervise the citizens.

“What the fuck,” Fen reiterates.

As if fate is listening in to their conversation, a new announcement appears on Fogg’s wristband with a chime. Fogg looks at Fen and Julia, who shrug and let him check out the update. He looks down at the screen of the wristband and waits three seconds for the facial recognition on the camera to detect him. The homepage lights up, and Fogg clicks on the red badge at the bottom right corner to open the announcement.

A hologram lights up the room, glowing brighter than the lanterns in the corners of the room. Fen and Julia stare at the wanted poster hovering in midair, and whatever worries Fen had about Julia’s discipline or Princess Margo’s coronation disappears as the vase in the middle of Fogg’s dining table shatters. Julia starts, then waves her hand to piece the ceramic back together. Fen doesn’t move from her spot, her eyes fixed on the photograph of the man on the poster.

_Josh Hoberman. Suspect for King Raymond’s assassination. Magician. Dangerous. Do not approach._

_Affiliations: High-Profile Deserter._

_Discipline: Florakinesis (Manipulation of Plants)_

_See below for physical descriptions._

“This has to be a mistake,” Fen mutters and shuts off the hologram. She looks up to see Julia run out the door. “Jules. Jules, wait!”

But Julia has already climbed down the ladder of the treehouse and stepped back into the rain, pulling the hood of her jacket. When it’s clear Julia isn’t going to stop running, Fen gives Fogg an apologetic nod and says goodnight, and runs off, slinging the hood of her jacket over her head. The remaining game from their hunting excursion lay inside the cooler backpack by Fogg’s freezer, forgotten.

After twenty minutes of sprinting and stumbling through the muddy ground covered in tree roots and fallen leaves, Fen catches up to Julia at the edge of the woods. Julia is leaning against a tree, the hologram poster once again lit from her wristband. She’s scrutinizing the photographs of Josh, her shoulders shaking as she bites back her sobs. Fen stands beside Julia, and, when she doesn’t move away, reaches out to hold her hand. 

They stand there in silence as the rain continues to pour, mindful of the distant whirring of the surveillance drones hovering about the streets of Wall. Fen looks at the familiar faces of the friend she hasn’t seen in three years, her heart aching. She has known Josh since she was eleven, and he was twelve. They have grown up together. Josh doesn’t look any older here than the last time she’d seen him, but the stubble and the lack of a smile adds a weariness that she didn’t think was possible on a person like him. 

All changes aside, Fen knows in her heart that Josh would never be a killer.

“We have to find him,” Fen blurts out, turning Julia around by the shoulder to look into her eyes. “Jules, we’ll get him before _they_ could.”

“But the wall—”

“We can use the marble!” Fen is the one running now, making a beeline for her house. “Dad sold all his new models, but the prototype’s still in his lab! It’s old, but it’ll work.”

“What if it’s not ready? Fen, wait!” 

Fen cuts through the streets and sprints down Haven Way, Julia tailing close behind her. The surveillance bot nearby blinks yellow as Fen goes past it, and she pulls her hood lower to shield her face from its camera. If she wants to make it across the border, she has to hurry. Once curfew is in place, if she is still out on the street, all surrounding bots will chase after her until they get a clear scan and confirm her identity. Her infraction will be recorded in police files, leaving a trail for the Traveler who has been searching for her. And if the Traveler knows her name and her address, Harriet’s illusions around the village will break.

The last thing Fen needs now is another enemy on her trail.


	3. Across the Wall

Fen slips back into her house on tip-toes and treads to the lab behind the living room. The lights are off, and her dad is already sound asleep. The key to her rescue mission is a prototype of a retractable hovercraft that her father once tinkered with, stacked among brilliant unfinished feats of engineering behind the upholstery. 

A purple velvet sheet upholsters the glass shelf where the marble sits. Fen’s dad, Dint, had left the marble inside four years ago. Dint doesn’t come into the lab much anymore. Engineering has been Dint’s greatest passion once, but his encounter with a psychic named Oblivion has turned him into a blank slate. He had been ambitious once, but now he is settled into the false life of contentment that Oblivion has constructed for him. A life in which Fen’s mother Freya holds no significance to him beyond a face and a name. 

Fen had been too young to remember much of her mother, but she misses the idea of having her mom around because her dad had been happy back then. Freya’s loss has affected both father and daughter. Though, the effects on Fen’s life happened due to Dint’s growing obsession with tracking her down—a fruitless search that ended with him losing memories. Fen had remodeled parts of the lab since that incident. 

Julia had helped, too. She’d cleared the largest workstation by the window, removed old computers and circuit boards, and converted it into a test space for her hunting gears. A meat freezer and an old electric stovetop stand in another corner of the room, the latter currently unplugged and gathering dust. Josh used to experiment with new recipes there while Fen and Julia tinkered away with their inventions. 

Josh.

Fen’s stomach lurches at the thought of her friend with his hands cuffed behind his back, forced to kneel in front of the newly-crowned queen as he pleads his innocence. It will be almost impossible for Josh to escape a kingdom full of magicians on the lookout. _Almost_. 

There is a chance Fen can reach Josh before anyone in Stormhold takes him into custody. 

Fen marches across the lab and yanks off the velvet covering the glass shelf, then reaches underneath the loose floor tile to find the key. The hovercraft looks like a silver marble on standby. She removes it; the marble feels heavy in her palm. 

After locking the shelf back up and returning the key to its hiding place, Fen turns the strange object around in her hand. A small green light on the surface flashes three times as she stares at it without blinking. Then, without warning, the marble cracks open, and from it, more pieces of metal—some kind of alloy by the sound of it—fold out from the center. Fen stifles a yelp and holds the base of the marble firmly in hand.

She patters out the back door and finds Julia standing on the porch out back, blocking her path. The rain is getting worse now, escalating into a storm. “You’re not going alone,” Julia says.

Fen’s eyes widen in surprise, but she only hesitates for a second before nodding. She hadn’t expected Julia to volunteer to join her. Stormhold may be a faraway kingdom in Fen’s mind, but it had been Julia’s home before she was banished. As the marble grows in size, Julia steps aside, and Fen walks to the grass and places it down. 

The marble shoots forward to the center of the lawn. Thirty seconds later, all the pieces of metal fold in place and seal themselves to create a spherical hovercraft with a side entrance and a wide window at the front. Fen gawks at the brilliance of the structure as it reveals itself. What a shame this is, knowing the marble would be one of her dad’s last creations? Dint’s memories of engineering have been tainted with obsession, and Oblivion has washed away his passion alongside his love for his wife.

The hovercraft’s side door opens automatically to reveal one single driver’s chair and a wireless headband at the seat—a neurolink. There are no dials up front, no buttons to press. The command takes place inside Fen’s mind, driven by only her will. Julia steps in after Fen and sits on one half of the chair. Fen takes the other half, and, at Julia’s encouraging look, places the neurolink headband over her head. 

“We need a destination,” Julia points out. “Josh is not at Blackspire anymore. I don’t know if––”

“Facial recognition,” Fen decides, squeezing Julia’s hand. She forces a smile and doesn’t let Julia finish that thought. 

Julia nods and pulls up the hologram poster again. Fen turns to face it so the neurolink can pick up the image. A faint whirring on the headband tells her the system has recognized Josh’s identity. Now all she needs is a command.

“Take us to Josh Hoberman,” she says.

The hovercraft lifts off the ground soundlessly, surprising its riders with the lack of a rumbling engine. Julia fastens the seat belt over them both as they fly high enough to see the top of the trees in the neighbors’ yards. The wall is in sight now, miles upon miles of a divide that marks the border between Filmore and Stormhold, too high for anyone to climb and likely riddled with magic on every single brick. The village of Wall is named after this very structure, one that, as far as Fen knows, has no opening. 

“Welcome home,” Julia mutters, the bitterness apparent in her voice.

Julia’s words hit like a curse. As soon as the hovercraft touches the border, webs of runic formulas illuminate in the air over the wall. The wards surrounding the Kingdom of Stormhold catch the hovercraft like a spider web trapping a fly.

“Breach the ward,” Fen says, hoping the neurolink can oblige. She imagines the bonds between the formulas breaking to let the hovercraft pass before sealing back up. 

They surge forward as whirring sounds draw close from behind—the surveillance bots have noticed the trespassers at the border. As the ward continues to resist, Julia hisses in pain and pulls up her sleeve. The sigil of banishment at the backside of her wrist burns blue, hissing every time the hovercraft collides against the web of runes.

“Fuck them.” Julia looks out the window and scoffs, holding back tears. “Fuck!”

“Jules.” Fen reaches for her shoulder, but she pulls away. “There has to be a way.”

Julia leaves the seat and walks to the door, shaking her head. “I’m wasting time. You should go.”

“But—”

“Go on without me.” Now Julia is the one forcing a smile on her face. “Get Josh to safety and stay low. Find the Wolfs, but don’t come back ‘till they find the real killer. Be careful.”

Before Fen can say anything else to convince her to stay, Julia opens the door. A clap of distant thunder rumbles across the land. There is no time to figure out another way; they both know. If Stormhold has surveillance bots of their own, the Royal Army might realize someone is attempting to breach its border. Julia, already lowering herself onto a tree below as the hovercraft descends to accommodate her step, understands what’s at stake. 

“I’ll find him,” Fen promises. “I’ll bring him home.”

Julia lets go and climbs into the thicket of the rain-soaked leaves and branches, shielding her face from the surveillance bots’ detectors as she climbs down. The hovercraft lurches forward after Fen buckles her seat belt and secures herself in place. This time, when the metal exterior makes contact with the wards surrounding Stormhold again, the spells break apart and let Fen pass.

_Find Josh Hoberman,_ Fen thinks again, peering out the window. Stormhold’s side of the border looks similar to Wall like it was once part of same village before the wall cleaved it in half. Then the sight of the quaint cottages and cobblestone paths becomes a blur of shadows, and Fen is heading straight into the heart of the kingdom.

What Fen has promised Julia is naive, if not downright stupid. She is waging war against an entire kingdom out for Josh’s blood—a kingdom of magicians, when all the power she has are the four knives holstered on her belt. The ward has let her pass, though, either as a challenge or as a trap. Regardless, it has given her a chance, so despite what’s at stake, Fen dares herself to hope. 

This time, she will find a way to save her friend.

* * *

As Fen flies past the farms and small villages surrounding the southern border of Stormhold, the land grows slightly uphill, each building a step higher than the one before. Geographically, according to Fogg, the land in Stormhold follows an incline as it travels further north. It peaks at the cliff before falling at a steep drop before a beach of black stones. Shark Bay is the kingdom’s northernmost shore, and beyond it lies nothing but open sea around the North Pole.

The hovercraft passes over a city, where a large billboard screen at a downtown intersection shows a pixelated version of Princess Margo. She is wearing full armor instead of a gown, her hair plaited in an intricate warrior’s braid down her back. Her face is stoic as she stares at the camera, daring her subjects to smile, and her axes, Sorrow and Sorrow, hang on her back, crossing at the handle with the ice-coated blades pointed outward. The Kingdom of Stormhold prides itself in its capacity for strength. Fen has known this, but she hasn’t understood how the kingdom’s government exemplifies it until now. After the unexpected death of their king, they mourn for a day and move on.

In many ways, Stormhold’s leadership defy tradition. The royal bloodlines of the other four nations have run for centuries long, including the one for Filmore. But six years ago Queen Ru was assassinated by a group of radicals called the Filmorians United, an event that ended the monarchy and transformed the nation into a republic with an elected president. Beside of Filmore, attempts at usurpation happen within families, usually cousins tearing at each other’s throats for the power to rule. 

The Stormhold rulers are different in that they earn their throne through dominance. Before Raymond Hanson, the kingdom was ruled by Rupert Chatwin. Rupert led an army of magicians during the War and set up defenses around the pre-existing Castle Blackspire and the surrounding federal district left from the Age of the Gods. The nymphs have built an abundance of architectures during their time, which have survived to the present day thanks to the runic formulas woven into their construction. Castle Blackspire is one of such buildings. Taking control of it had been vital in pushing back against the invaders who threaten to destroy the magicians for powers they were born with.

Rupert brought the magicians’ side to victory and secured the northern half of the continent of Fillory as his terrain. But Lance did not survive the final battle, and King Rupert was crowned as the sole ruler after Stormhold became independent. Rupert ruled for thirty-five years, growing more and more obsessed with necromancy to try and bring Lance back. 

Rupert’s obsession made him a neglectful king, and he had lost more and more support among his subjects until Raymond and his friend Samira—then only teenagers—usurped him. King Raymond and Queen Samira earned the throne through sheer power, earning the titles of Silvertongue and Lady Hurricane. Under their rule, the kingdom transformed from a haven to a fortress. Even now, three decades later, the kingdom welcomes a new leader in the same iron-hearted fashion.

Fen ruminates on Stormhold’s history as the hovercraft wanders deeper into the kingdom, passing the city where she has seen the billboard, then smaller towns and villages, then another bustling metropolitan area with more photos of the princess on screens. With every new pixelated image, Fen’s cheeks grow warmer. She is embarrassed at the thought of her impending rescue after looking the princess in the eye. As far as the law is concerned, Fen is assisting a fugitive, a suspect assassin of the king, no less.

She brings up the holograms of Josh’s wanted poster again and reminds herself that she is helping an innocent. The soon-to-be queen would understand, but best case scenario, Fen will never have to face her and explain all this. 

The coronation must be happening right now. People will watch on telescreens in the safety of their homes while the princess walks into the throne room and awaits her new title. With the crownguards focused on protecting her safety during the coronation, Fen may be able to slip through the land unnoticed as the hovercraft locates Josh. She is traveling at an impossible speed, hoping to Gods that Josh is close. After she finds him, she will search for a rendezvous, and the Free Trader Beowulf will take care of the rest.

The hovercraft drops in altitude, brushing past the top of a tree. Fen’s target must be close. Her chest tenses when she makes out the stark silhouette of Castle Blackspire, a fortress that stands tall against the surrounding blocks of rectangular buildings. Why here? Hasn’t Josh left the castle two years ago? The last thing she needs is to be spotted by the crownguards standing security outside the castle grounds.

To Fen’s relief, the hovercraft sweeps past the castle in a blur. If luck is on Fen’s side, the trajectory of her flight path is too quick for anyone to notice the silver sphere soaring through the sky. Still, Fen turns behind her as the sight of the castle vanishes. She whispers a silent apology to the princess, who will soon rise to the title of queen—a “sorry” with no substance except the sympathy she holds for a young woman one year her senior, who now shoulders the responsibility of her entire kingdom.

King Raymond had been a bitter king through to his final days. He had fallen into a slow descent since Queen Samira died at sea sixteen years ago, and never surfaced above it. Princess Margo would rise well to the occasion as the kingdom’s leader, though. She has survived kidnapping attempts on the monthly as a child and earned the title of Master Magician at twelve years old under the tutelage of Mischa Mayakovsky. And as a teenager, she assembled an elite task force called the Junior Centurion Guards. 

The princess, together with her team, has rescued countless subjects from the bases of a group of anarchists called the Deserters. Led by George and Paloma Bell, an infamous duo better known as The Couple, the Deserters pick children off the streets and remove their Shades and indoctrinate them with their twisted ideas of liberation. The Deserters have been bringing terror on Stormhold since Rupert’s time, but the princess has been their biggest pain in the ass. She has accomplished more to protect her people than her father and his predecessor had ever done. 

Princess Margo is not her father. Fen has faith that she’ll be a better leader. A confidence which seems unwarranted, given that Fen has never met her.


	4. Rendezvous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From chapters 4 to 15, there is a flashback at the start of each chapter in italics, told in various characters' points of view. The exceptions are chapters 6 and 15, which have two flashbacks.

_Margo had been in her father’s study only a dozen times. Most of her meetings with the king happened in the throne room, where she’d sit alongside council members in discussions of politics and other such bullshit. But this meeting with her father was different because it was personal. So personal that they were the only ones in the room, divided by a desk._

_“Couldn’t this wait until the council meeting?” Margo asked._

_Raymond pressed his lips in a thin line. It was no secret that he disapproved of Margo’s manners, but with her at twenty-one years old already, there was little he could hope to rectify. “I would like to discuss the matter of your engagement.”_

_Hearing about her arranged marriage still left a sour taste in Margo’s mouth. Nothing about her fate was in her own hands. Such was the curse of being born a princess. Her first betrothed was Prince Micah of the Floating-Mountain, who, all things considered, had been a decent guy. But after Micah’s untimely death, another arrangement was made on her behalf_ — _Queen Agate had forced her hand and asked her to marry her second son._

_“Prince Fomar is sixteen,” Margo said. “Don’t we have to wait two more years?”_

_To her surprise, her father shook her head. He pulled out the contract that detailed the future marriage arrangements and smoothed out the paper. “I am aware that I have made mistakes, as a father and as a king.”_

_If he was trying to make her forgive him, he needed more than one apology._

_“Where are you going with this?”_

_“In my days before I became King Raymond, I was a boy with great ambitions. But more than that, I was a best friend. Your mother and I fought by each other’s side to overthrow the tyrant King Rupert who let this kingdom crash and burn. We fell in love, and I nearly lost my life in battle, but Mira saved me.”_

_Margo almost cussed him out and blurted out the truth: how dare he mentioned her mother’s name when he was the one who banished her out to sea during a storm? When he had fabricated the queen’s death as a tragical coincidence after discovering the shipwreck? It had taken years for Margo to discover the truth, but to reveal what she knew would put Asmodeus and countless others at risk. She would not betray her friends. Not like her father did._

_“I have tried to be an honorable king, but I am becoming the same kind of king that Rupert was. I am not asking for your forgiveness, but I want you to know I’ve changed my mind regarding your future marriage with Prince Fomar. I am breaking the contract. Tick has notified Queen Agate of my decision. She will not be pleased, but Stormhold has other resources to offer. I will discuss other arrangements with her at the summit on Winter Solstice.”_

_This was not the news Margo expected to hear. “But why?”_

_“A leader can never be free. They are bound by their duties. I have made many sacrifices to be where I am today. But even as King, I had been free to marry for love. Your mother made me a better man. I want you to have the same freedom.”_

_“Thank you,” Margo said, keeping her voice neutral and contained._

_This was not the same father Margo had grown up knowing. When she had first attacked Lieutenant Pumice on the Floaters’ sea territory, her father had been livid. She had jeopardized their relations with the Floating-Mountain, he’d said, and he’d never let her explain why she did what she did. Her engagement with Prince Micah was made because Agate demanded retribution for her hostility, and her father had allowed it to happen. It was a consequence. A lesson learned._

_“Do you regret sending mom away?” Margo asked._

_King Raymond put the contract away, but not before Margo took a good look. There was a rune on each sheet of paper, and she could read the symbol upside down. Null, it said. He watched her without asking her to leave, but he had nothing else to say._

_Margo stood up and walked to the door. “Good night.”_

_“Margo.”_

_The sound of her name made her pause._

_“I loved her,” Raymond said. “I did.”_

_This would be the last conversation Margo had with her father, and it would take a long time before Margo could figure out what to make of his perplexing decision. Her father’s discipline was persuasion, a dangerous branch of psychic magic that gave too much power to manipulators. Though Margo’s mind was tightly warded, growing up with her father had made her a skeptic. Yet he had nothing to gain by lying._

* * *

Margo follows the crownguards changing shifts by the castle grounds, keeping her head low. The hard shells of the outer armor shuffle around her torso and thighs, but the backing is made of kevlar with the same black color, flexible enough to accommodate her body and dark enough to blend in at night. Around a blind spot at the northwest corner outside the gate, she ducks behind a tree and darts across the empty street of the blockade, her footsteps pattering against the asphalt as her feet swerve inside her oversized boots. 

The Myrtlewood Building is three blocks away, but the neighborhoods surrounding the castle evacuated after the assassination last night. Anyone darting around the streets at this hour will draw suspicion. The last thing Margo needs during an escape is a camera zoomed in on her face. She has the standard everyday gear of a crownguard, but the helmet has no visor to cover up her face, and she has neither a weapon nor a shield. All of which would stick out as soon as the shutter clicks and captures her photo.

Darting into a back alleyway, Margo continues her path as discreetly as she can. Sneaking around sounds easy in theory, but the Federal District of Ogygia where Castle Blackspire stands is all widened roads and rectangular glass structures. The architectural landscape endlessly repeats itself until the district blends into the rest of the kingdom. This uniformity makes surveillance much simpler, which sucks for her.

And of course, tonight the Royal Army brings out the surveillance bots. Filmorian technology is by far the most advanced in the world. It is Filmore’s number one export to all nations, but Stormhold gets by without flying cameras and hovering vehicles until now.

Margo picks up pace and eyes the small screen on her wristband that shows a map of the streets ahead, double-checking to make sure no pedestrian would be in her way. It’s hypocritical of her to shit on Filmorian tech when her own beloved gadget is derived from it, but the wristband is a gift from the Free Trader Beowulf, and to the Wolfs, societal norms of this kingdom mean nothing. Besides, the wristband was a gift, and a helpful one.

To draw the surveillance bots and patrolling crownguards away from the next block, Margo creates a distraction. Icicles fall down the sidewalk from a fire escape behind a building in the opposite direction. As expected, the noise draws security detail away to investigate, giving her a precious twenty seconds to slip across the upcoming intersection. And the next. Using a rare discipline like hers instead of runes is a dead giveaway, but she’ll be camouflaged by the time someone comes after her.

The Myrtlewood Building is a financial center that provides rentals for expensive shit in high-security vaults, so security’s tight, but all cameras have blind spots. Margo ducks around the back and descends the steps leading down to a basement. She punches the override code into the keypad to enter the bike shed. The door unlocks with a faint buzz, as Alice has promised. Margo slips in, glad to be out of eyeshot from street level.

At the very back of the shed, she finds Gallop, a motorcycle she has named and regarded as her noble steed. Gallop had collected a fine coat of dust since she’d last ridden him two months ago. With the sleeve of her kevlar, she wipes down the seat and the touchscreen fixed to the handlebar. Upon her touch, Gallop powers on to life, fully-charged from the wireless pads positioned beneath every rail. She pulls out the earpiece hidden inside her pocket and fits it over her left ear after connecting it to Gallop’s system. 

She hears a deep, modulating voice. _“I have been expecting you, Your Highness.”_

Margo enters a release code on the touchscreen and unlocks the riding helmet fastened by two maglocks to her back seat. She swaps out her crownguard helmet with it and lowers the darkened visor up front, finally shielding her face. “Fuck off,” she says with a smirk.

Alice chuckles in her normal voice, switching off the modulator. Now she is connected to Margo through the network from a throwaway proxy. Margo pushes the motorcycle up the steps. She activates chameleon mode from Gallop’s touchscreen, grateful that the Wolfs have given the motorcycle a few technological perks before leaving it in Margo’s care. Flickering dots surround the air, enveloping Margo and the motorcycle in a series of protective holograms that match the landscape beside them, blending them in.

* * *

After surveying the streets to make sure the coast is clear, Margo hops on the seat and zips across the road, putting more distance between herself and Castle Blackspire. It’s good to have a friend on a night like this, when she’s fleeing from her coronation with very little plan of what the fuck she’s doing. 

Ten minutes of reckless riding later, Margo stops at a streetlight to collect herself. The motorcycle has a silencer for stealth, but she moves slowly for the sake of the holograms disguising her from the cameras. No hologram fools the surveillance bots if they get close enough to detect the pixels shielding her silhouette, but they are all fifty feet above ground at the moment, watching the street through a bird's-eye view.

The coronation would have started by now, which means crownguards will be searching for the missing princess. A day ago, the idea of being crowned so soon had felt surreal. The concept of Margo’s father dying has been unthinkable, even though any affection she once held for him perished along the alleged death of her mother when she was five. King Raymond has been a hero once, a savior to a kingdom that was falling to shit, but over the years he has become the same selfish king that Rupert once was. He has given the Order of Reclamations free reign in and out of Stormhold, so long as they leave this kingdom’s ambient energy alone and pay tribute by capturing magical children from other nations. 

Then in his final days, he has done something unexpected. He canceled Margo’s engagement to Prince Fomar and gave her the freedom to marry for love, breaking the political alliance Stormhold has forged with the Floating-Mountain. But one good deed doesn’t cancel out the years of tyranny he has placed over his people, and the collateral damage Margo and her friends have taken due to his countless selfish decisions.

Margo steers her focus back to the route she has planned and continues riding north, hoping the hologram camouflage can keep up with her shifting landscape. Her destination is across the Thundering Creek, which marks the northern quadrant of the District of Ogygia, a neighborhood known for its historical landmarks preserved from the Age of the Gods. 

She doesn’t know how she should feel about the king’s death. Her father has made many enemies in his time. Eventually, someone would have broken past the castle’s wards and killed him in his sleep, though his death has come sooner than she’d expected. The Deserters have been plotting his downfall for years, believing their path to liberate magicians from political authorities is righteous. But Paloma, now the sole leader of these anarchists after her husband George’s death, is not one for subtlety. If Paloma and her followers have anything to do with the assassination, she would have released some kind of public statement to gloat, or at least a private video addressed to Princess Margo, the next-in-line.

The only thing Margo has received, instead, is a message that has erased itself two minutes after it was read—a ping sent to her wristband two hours before her coronation, leaving her very little time to plot her escape. 

_Danger at coronation. Do not attend. Urgent meeting, M and Architect at Neitherlands. Rendezvous tonight, T &R. Use Gallop. _ — _Z_

The bridge across the creek emerges in Margo’s line of sight, and she accelerates. Five blocks until she makes it out of the district center. Four. Three. Sirens echo all around, the sounds overlapping as bots and motorcycles from the Royal Army gather in search of her. 

After so many years, Margo finally gets to see the Neitherlands for herself. Mayakovsky, her old teacher, has found his way to that mystical place a year ago, invited by the same Architect with no name. But what has Zelda heard about the dangers at her coronation? Is someone planning to invade the throne room and challenge her to a duel, the same way her parents defeated King Rupert?

_“Are you close?”_ Alice asks. She has been silent the whole way, giving Margo the space she needs to sort out whatever complicated emotions are swirling in her head.

_“Almost there,”_ Margo confirms, thankful that surveillance bots’ cameras don’t pick up audio. “No news from Zelda?”

The Gods-awful noise of the sirens persistently louder, but Margo rides onward, ignoring it all. She cuts across the road to save time, riding against traffic, except there aren’t any cars after the district has evacuated. The lack of traffic is a relief at the same time it unsettles her. 

_“No,”_ Alice says after a pause. _“Last time she pinged was an hour ago. Kady’s pulling up her shop security system.”_

“Weird,” Margo says. “I’m almost there. She’s probably nose-deep in some history book.”

_“Probably. But be careful.”_

As Margo turns left and rides down the riverbank, contemplating how quiet everything is, a small, orbital hovercraft appears at the periphery of her rearview mirror, soaring through the river as if it is headed straight for her.

She brakes abruptly, trying to avoid a full-on collision force. Too late, the hovercraft lands beside her. Its round shell of cold metal brushes against her left elbow as she veers into the nearby alleyway. The hovercraft follows her to the space between two buildings before it unfolds from the bottom up.

A woman jumps down from her seat before the metal pieces fold into themselves and shrink in size. She holds out her hand and catches something up in the air, a silvery sphere now no bigger than a glass marble. Before Margo can comment on the mind-boggling vehicle that could’ve turned her into roadkill, the woman stumbles forward, having lost her balance when her hovercraft spat her out, and crashes into Margo. They careen into a wall.

“Umber’s tits, I’m sorry!” The woman pushes herself off immediately. Once standing, she dusts a bit of dried paint off her pants and holds out a hand, offering to pull Margo up. “I’m so, so sorry, Josh, I’m—”

“Do I _look—_ ” Margo avoids her hand and pushes herself free of the wall she’d been pushed up against—“like a Josh?”

_“Don’t,”_ Alice warns.

Margo’s hand stops before she could lift the visor of her helmet to reveal her face.

“Wait. I. What?” The woman frowns at Margo. “Who are you?”

A loud whirring sound down the riverbank interrupts their conversation. It doesn’t sound like surveillance drones or Royal Army motorcycles in search of Margo. This is a deep thrumming close to the ground, something small but steady and maneuvered. A hoverboard?

Margo doesn’t stop long enough to find out. 

With a decisive leap, Margo moves aside and reaches out to touch the handle of her motorcycle. On contact, countless pixelated dots in the air surround her. She hops on, camouflaged by the hologram once more. Before the woman can catch on, Margo accelerates and rides past her to the other end of the alley. She emerges onto the next street away from the riverbank. Her hunch says the hoverboard rider is searching for the princess, too.

* * *

Margo rides slowly, glad that the rendezvous is only three blocks away into the heart of Merit Plaza. She keeps her ears perked for the sound of footsteps, hoping the stranger who barged into her earlier doesn’t know any good runes for tracking. Alice and Kady are still trying to reach Zelda from the Wolfs’ headquarters, but Margo decides to go into the shop after confirming the coast is clear. If Zelda’s place is compromised by Deserters, she’ll fight her way out.

She secures her motorcycle by a lamp post in front of Tomes & Riddles, a café that Zelda has purchased and refurbished into her dream bookshop. Margo keeps the chameleon mode turned on so no one could find her motorcycle. Gallop will detect anyone in a ten-mile radius and alert Margo through her wristband. 

The front door of the shop opens when Margo pulls the handle even though the sign by the window says CLOSED. To members of the Free Trader Beowulf, Tomes & Riddles is open for business until midnight. As an ally and sponsor of this group of vigilantes, Margo is an honorary Wolf, too. Her fingerprints are in the Wolfs’ database, granting her access to their off-the-book resources. 

The interior is barely lit except for the faint yellow glows of small nightlights situated between each shelf. As always, Zelda had probably retreated into her office at the back after the business was closed to outsiders. Margo walks past the large table at the entrance that greets the customers during the day, taking a second to examine the colorful assortment of new releases in bound hardcovers with gold and silver leaf. As teenagers, Margo and Eliot used to sneak out in the night and visit Zelda after hours. Eliot used to let Margo lay her head on his shoulder while they sat cross-legged amidst the tall shelves in the back, and she’d read to him. 

The memories of Eliot makes Margo smile. She hurries to the back of the shop and knocks on the door to the private office. Light penetrates from the gap underneath the door, and sure enough, a shadow of someone approaches the door and opens it.

“Zelda,” Margo says in a low voice, lifting up her helmet’s visor at last. “It’s me.”

“Princess Margo.” Zelda clasps her hands in front of her chest and steps aside to let Margo pass. “I’m surprised to see you. Come in.”

Zelda hadn’t called Margo _princess_ since they’d first met when she was thirteen, when she asked to be treated like a normal girl. And the real Zelda would have been expecting her. The front door to the shop closes with a loud thud. Locks click into place, confirming Margo’s suspicions.

_“The shop’s security disconnected,”_ Alice says. _“We have a plan B. You need to get to Shark Bay. Say ‘credenza’ if you need backup to break you out.”_

Margo pretends not to notice the front door locking and greets the imposter with a nod. 

“Quiet day at the shop?” she asks, hoping her hesitation isn’t noticeable as she feels her heart pounding in the hollows of her chest. If she’s locked up here and has to fight her way out, she may as well gauge how much intel the imposter has discovered about the Wolfs.

The imposter shrugs and walks back to Zelda’s desk. Several drawers from filing cabinets are open all across the room, the scrolls inside haphazardly scattered.

_“Margo!”_ This time it’s Kady speaking through the earpiece. _“Zelda called. That’s Everett.”_

Fuck. 

Margo slams her foot down on the ground, _hard_ , and tendrils of ice grow from the spot beneath the intruder’s feet and spin upward to wrap Everett in a cocoon. Her ice isn’t quick enough to stop him from shapeshifting. He turns into a viper, slithers out from the frozen bindings with slimy scales, and backs Margo into a corner of the room. 

“Credenza!” Margo shouts.

At the door to Zelda’s office, Everett transforms back into his human form. He smirks like the smug son of a bitch that he is, blocking Margo’s only exit.

_“Shit,”_ Kady mutters. _“Bad news. I rebooted the shop’s security. Someone’s at the door.”_


	5. Nemesis

_ Josh waited outside the Forge, a basket of pastries in hand. He watched the girl hammer away at an anvil with a sword too big for her hands through the window. His parents had told him her name—Fen—and asked him to introduce himself.  _

_ A week ago, he had moved to Wall after his adoption was finalized, escorted by a woman named Harriet, who picked him up from his group home and brought him through three train rides. Harriet’s museum was down the road from his family’s bakery, and her door was always open to visitors, but after seeing her three days in a row, it seemed rude to keep going back. _

_ It was a shame that Josh had to move to Wall during the summer when school was out, but his relocation was out of necessity, not a deliberate decision. Back at the group home, Josh had attempted to heal the dying patches of lawn at an elderly neighbor’s garden and ended up growing two hundred dandelions among the grass. Three days later, he was transferred here to his now-parents, friends of Harriet’s who were aware of his powers but open-minded enough to accept him regardless. _

_ The door opened, and Josh jumped.  _

_ “Hi!” Fen said, staring at him with a grin and bouncing on the balls of her feet.  _

_ Strands of her hair fell loose from her top knot, and she had a smudge of soot on her nose. Inside the Forge, a fire was burning, its heat countering the heavy air conditioning from the vents overhead. _

_ “I’m Josh, I was going to knock,” he blurted out. He switched the basket to his left hand and held out his right hand for a handshake. “I, umm, just moved here?” _

_ “I’ve noticed.” Fen scrutinized his face before stepping aside and inviting him in. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never seen you around. So.” _

_ Josh stood before a workstation, leaning his back against the side of it. No matter how many friends he made, the first meetings always happened with a great load of awkwardness from his end. He could blame it on his magic, on having to be hypervigilant to not give it away, but really, he just had a penchant for saying dumb things in place of greetings. _

_ “Harriet brought me here. I’m with the Hobermans now.” _

_ “I know Harriet!” Fen wheeled over on a stool, kicking the ground with her feet, and stopped beside him. Her energy was infectious, and he smiled in response. In a few weeks, when he could be his normal, less-awkward self again, he was sure he’d appreciate that Fen bonded quickly. _

_ “Oh, these are for you.” Josh set the basket on the tabletop behind him and gestured. “My—my mom and dad baked them.” _

_ It had only been a week since Josh had moved here, and he hadn’t remembered his birth parents. Before Wall, his twelve years of life had been matrons and rooms shared with other children and changing houses every few months. The words mom and dad sounded strange out of his mouth, but it was a strangeness he hoped to get used to. _

_ “They’re too kind. Tell them I said thank you.” _

_ “Actually, they, uh, asked me to ask you to—I mean, to invite you. To dinner. With us.” _

_ “I’d like that. Okay.” Fen wheeled herself to Josh’s side and knelt on her seat to peer into the basket of baked goods, then swung around to face him. “Is my sword scaring you?” _

_ “Shouldn’t they?” Josh countered, more at ease now that he had stated his intended purpose. _

_ Fen shook her head and picked up the sword she was working on earlier. She was careful to keep the pointy side away from Josh, but it still unnerved him to see her testing it out. “It’s a prototype. It doesn’t stab very well.” _

* * *

The stranger on the motorcycle slips away into the street at the other end of the alley. Fen’s heart sinks—they don’t sound like Josh, whoever they are. 

Fen pockets the marble-sized hovercraft. Before she can chase after the stranger, a figure on a hoverboard slips into the alleyway. They stop in front of her, skid forward, and grab Fen by the shoulder. They’re dressed in a black jumpsuit with purple stripes down the sleeves, and a matching purple helmet with visor covers their face. Fen punches their arm to free herself, but a glowing web of runes blocks off the other end of the alley and traps her in place. 

“I am searching for the princess,” they say, their voice deep and monotone. They must be speaking through a voice modulator. “Have you seen her?”

“I-I don’t—”

“Or anyone,” they interrupt. “Did you see anyone else passing by?”

“Oh!” Fen turns to the other end of the alley, where the motorcyclist must have gone. “Someone was—” she points to the street—“they went out here, and—wait, the princess?  _ The  _ princess?”

How has she ended up here, when she had told the neurolink the exact person she wanted to find? Unless something else caught Fen’s attention while she was driving the prototype her father had designed. Or some _ one _ . But it can’t be Princess Margo. It can’t.

Though this person’s visor is down, Fen hears a hint of a smile in their voice. “Sorry. Let me start over. You can call me Nemesis. I’m not here to arrest you.”

Fen narrows her eyes at the clearly-fake name, then turns her gaze to the sky. “Up there!”

While Nemesis turns to look, Fen pushes past her and sprints out of the alleyway, then turns left and continues down the riverbank. She doesn’t hear the hoverboard approaching, but Nemesis passes through the wall of a shop in front of Fen’s path and blocks her off. Fen swallows. With a phaser breathing down her neck, slipping away is going to be hard.

“Alright, trespasser,” Nemesis says. They grab a knife holstered at Fen’s belt and hover behind Fen, pointing the blade to her throat. “We’ll do this the hard way. Help me look for the princess, or whoever you just saw slipping away, and I’ll let you go instead of turning you over to the crownguards.” 

Nemesis lowers the hoverboard to the ground, and Fen backs slowly until she’s balanced on the small surface. The hoverboard lifts up and takes them back through the alleyway onto the next street, where they begin their search.

“Why are you doing this?” Fen asks.

To Fen’s surprise, Nemesis sheathes the knife they’d stolen and hands it back. “Stop asking questions. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”

* * *

The hoverboard has adjusted to Fen’s weight accordingly as she had stepped on following the stranger’s invitation, and Fen hopes she is making the right decision. She had every intention to run away from Nemesis long enough to break out her hovercraft again and take off, this time to make sure her thoughts focus on Josh, only Josh.

Fen is in a shopping district by the looks of it. The buildings show decades of wear, the red-and-brown bricks sturdy but chiseled from the elements. Though the shop interiors appear modern, this neighborhood looks like a scene found in a time capsule. Compared to the tall rectangular blocks of glass and concrete, this area doesn’t look like it belongs in a capital city.

Two blocks later, a ripple in the air catches Fen’s eye. “There,” Fen says, pointing to a lamppost.

They stop in front of a shop called Tomes & Riddles. Nemesis lowers the hoverboard, and they both step off. The faint flicker of dots is barely noticeable unless Fen focuses on the spot and doesn’t blink. Earlier, the stranger on the motorcycle slipped away from Fen the same way after disappearing into the background. 

Nemesis hovers closer and investigates. They reach out until their hand touches something solid, and their arm turns invisible. “Holograms. Not bad.”

Fen nods. Something else catches her eye. She peers back at the front window and makes out a watermark on the CLOSED sign. The sigil of the Free Trader Beowulf is hidden inside the letter “O”, only visible at certain angles. This shop is a Wolfs rendezvous. Why would the princess—

“Get back!” Nemesis shouts.

Fen staggers backward onto the road beyond the curb in time to see the window shatter from the inside. Glass rains down on the sidewalk where she was standing two seconds ago. An alarm blares from inside the shop, the vibration so shrill that it’s painful to hear. Nemesis phases through the door and unlocks it from the inside. Fen runs in. 

At the back of the shop, there is an office with light coming from inside it. A man is blocking the open door, facing away from Fen. Nemesis phases into a wall and reappears inside the office. They trace a rune in the air, unleashing a jet of red light—it knocks the man into a bookshelf, which topples over with the force of the collision.

A woman runs out of the room. Nemesis disappears through another wall and doesn’t return. The man changes his form into a snake and slides out from the pile of scattered books on the ground. He slithers after the woman who is running out of the shop. Fen pulls out a knife from her belt and throws it, aiming for the snake’s head. 

The knife nicks the snake before it soars into the wall and falls to the ground with a clatter. The man changes back to his human form, a balding man with beady eyes, and clutches at a bleeding gash on his shoulder. Fen’s pulse drops as she finds herself staring into the eyes of someone she has only seen in pictures until now. Everett Rowe—bounty hunter, and leader of the Order of Reclamations. 

A jet of ice darts past Fen’s head and knocks Everett into the back wall. Another jet freezes his limbs and traps him. Fen turns. The ice came from the woman who ran out of earlier. Now the woman backs out of the entrance and disappears down the street.

Fen runs out and throws the marble-sized hovercraft on the sidewalk, muttering prayers to any Gods who care to listen. The hovercraft expands into its full spherical form. Fen doesn’t notice the woman hiding behind the corner of the next building, who runs over and pushes Fen aside. The woman yanks the door of the hovercraft open and clambers inside.

“Hey!” Fen yells. 

Fen finds her balance and sprints down the sidewalk to grab the hovercraft’s door before it closes. She hoists herself inside and turns to her companion. The door shuts, trapping them both in. They soar down the street away from the mess of the bookshop. 

“I’m driving.” Princess Margo turns in the driver’s seat to face Fen, the circular band of the neurolink glowing around her head as the hovercraft takes off per her command. A riding helmet sits on her lap. “Got a problem with that?”

The hovercraft lunges into motion and accelerates, the force knocking Fen to the back wall. Fen stares at the face in front of her, a face she has seen on dozens of billboards earlier tonight. Princess Margo is really here like Nemesis said. She’s wearing a set of kevlar armor like the crownguards, her face clear of makeup, and her hair a tousled mess. But despite the frazzled state of her, she regards Fen with the unmistakable grace and austerity of a royal.

The princess regards Fen with a tilt of her head, amused at her apparent loss of words. Fen knows what greeting is expected of her, but the only words that come to her mind as she opens her mouth are, “What the fuck.”

* * *

Fen sits cross-legged at the back of the hovercraft, leaning against the wall as she peers out the front window. They have been flying for what feels like hours without speaking to each other, the swishing of air resisting against the structure of the spherical hovercraft growing stronger as they continue their course. In reality, it can’t have been more than a few minutes.

Judging by the shadows of trees, they’re headed north. Cities and towns soar past underneath, the landscape blurring into amorphous shadows against the night sky. The neurolink continues to steer the hovercraft forward, heading toward the northern shore. To throw off the people in pursuit, the princess has taken them down a zig-zagging path instead of a straight trajectory, veering left and right in unpredictable turns.

“I’m on my way,” the princess says, fidgeting with a wireless device hooked to her ear. “But I’m not alone. Someone decided to tag along.”

“Well,  _ someone  _ decided to steal my fucking ride,” Fen blurts out, surprising herself and the princess in front of her.

“No idea,” Princess Margo says to whoever’s on the line. She turns in her seat with one eyebrow ticked and eyes Fen with interest. “You got a name?”

“Fen.” Fen crosses her arms. “You got a plan?”

“Fen.” The princess repeats, then asks, “That your real name?”

Fen shrugs. The last thing she wants is a confrontation, but here she is, stuck in a hijacking situation. She has come into the kingdom with the perfect plan and every intention of finding Josh before dawn. It would have worked if she hasn’t been distracted by shiny billboards and crashed into her-fucking-highness instead. 

There must be some way to get away from the princess, as interesting as the encounter has been. Princess Margo is the last person Fen needs on a mission to find a fugitive, but fighting for control over the hovercraft isn’t going to be easy. They could end up breaking the window. Messing up the neurolink. Getting stranded in the wilderness.

Fuck.

“Where are you from?” the princess asks. “Judging by your tech, I’d say Filmore. Right? Huh. How’d you get past the wards?”

“Wasn’t your coronation tonight?” Fen asks instead.

The princess chuckles, deciding to humor her. “You didn’t get the invite?”

“Very funny. What, did you run away?”

The hovercraft sputters beneath their feet, interrupting the round of questioning. Fen stands up and looks out to see the roof of houses underneath them. They’re flying past another village, and the houses grow more sparse as they pass, fading into vast open land. There are no more tall buildings up ahead, not even roads for vehicles to pass, or farms, or beds of flowers. They must be close to the shore. There’s nothing in the ocean that lies beyond, and it’s highly unlikely that Josh is drifting out at sea, waiting for Fen to find him.

“What do you mean,  _ you know her _ ?” the princess asks. Fen turns around and frowns, and the princess mirrors her expression. “She’s one of us? You sure?”

The sputtering grows louder, and the hovercraft twitches in mid-air.

“Hello?” The princess taps her earpiece. “Hello? Fuck.”

Princess Margo pulls the neurolink headband off her head as the lights inside the hovercraft die off. The front window cracks into several pieces, one of which flings off the window frame altogether, peeled away by the wind. Fen’s teeth chatter as the ocean air hits her.

The hovercraft tips sideways, and Fen stumbles and falls over to the side. She crawls back to the center on all fours and grips the back of the pilot’s seat. 

Princess Margo sends a jet of ice toward what remains of the window, and freezes the broken bits before they could shatter from the outside in. The glass cracks underneath the ice’s pressure and breaks off into splinters, and the rest of the hovercraft follows. Metal pieces peel away one by one from the skeleton that holds the sphere together, starting from the top. Then the skeleton crumbles, and the floor gives way. Fen and the princess drop down onto the earth below, still standing on the biggest piece of metal that remains intact—the bottom of the hovercraft with the pilot’s seat still bolted. 

“Son of a pigfucker!” Margo smacks the back of the seat with her hand. A cascade of ice shards flies out of her hands at the motion, embedding into the leather cushion.

They are at the cliffside before the shore at the very north of the kingdom, close to the edge and a few steps away from a steep drop down onto the harbor and the beach. The sight of the crumbling remains of the hovercraft makes tears well up in Fen’s eyes. Fen turns away from the princess, not wanting a stranger to see her cry, and clutches her fists. Her only chance at saving Josh, literally destroyed. The pod might have held up if they hadn’t flown all the way to the edge of the fucking kingdom—if  _ the princess  _ hadn’t made them fly all the way.

“ _ Now  _ do you have a fucking plan,  _ Your Highness  _ ?” Fen snaps, turning back once her tears are under control.

Now that Fen is out and exposed, she hears distant sirens drawing closer. The authorities must be catching up to them in pursuit of the princess. Maybe they’re only a few minutes away. 

“My plan,” the princess says in a low voice, “does not involve you.”

“Oh. Oh. Really? For Ember’s sake, if I hadn’t barged in on  _ your plan _ , you would’ve died!”

“I didn’t ask you to stalk me, okay?!” Princess Margo raises her voice to match, flailing her arms as the ocean wind roars. “I didn’t fucking ask you!”

“Seriously? You’re—what, you’re mad that I saved you? Wow.”

“Why were you even there?”

“I—”

Fen stops herself, feeling her heart pound faster. She swallows before she almost blurts out the truth, hoping her fear isn’t written all over her face. Telling the princess her real intention would end Fen for good before her search even started, and from the looks of it, whoever the princess was talking to has found information on Fen based on nothing but a name. Who are these people? And what did the princess mean by “she’s one of us”?

“You what?” 

“Why the fuck do you care?” Fen backs away, scanning her surroundings for anywhere else she could go. The only path she had was down the incline of the cliff. They were as good as backed against a corner here. “You know, my plan does not involve you, either!”

“And you just slammed your orbital death machine into me by chance?”

“Gods! I said I was sorry!”

Fen is on the verge of tears again, but she doesn’t look away. She is fed up with playing along. This is her last chance, her stupid, rash decision to try and save her friend. Her promise to Jules. 

To her surprise, the princess softens at the sound of Fen’s voice breaking. “Alright. Look. I’ll pay you back for your hovercraft, okay? Right now we need to—”

The princess trails off and widens her eyes, looking past Fen’s shoulder. Fen turns. A flying ship is hovering at the cliff’s edge, a few feet away from where Fen and the princess are standing. A group of men with hooded winter coats and their faces covered by scarves run out from the extended plank, each of them holding a silver orb with runes engraved on the surface.

Before Fen can dodge, one of the men shoots out a sizzling burst of white light, too quickly for Fen to step aside. As soon as the light makes contact with Fen’s skin, her arms stiffen up until they’re straight and lying flat against her sides, and her legs bind together. Someone catches Fen before she topples over. The men carry Fen on board before she can free herself.

The ship steers away toward the vast, open sea. Fen winces as the men drag her toward the main mast and tie her back, the princess already bound by ropes beside her. 

* * *

The ship soars upward until it’s flying above clouds. Fen still can’t feel her limbs, much less grab one of the knives tucked on her belt. Surprisingly, the men don’t search their hostages before heading into the chart room at the ship’s stern. Which is great for them, because if someone takes Fen’s knives, she will skewer them like a freshly-caught pigeon.

A few minutes later, a different man walks out on the deck. 

He wears a tricorn hat in black velvet with a peacock feather tucked on the side. His dark curly hair peeks out from under the hat’s brim, and his eyes are hazel, rimmed with black mascara. He wears a black velvet peacoat with silver trims that match the embroidery on his hat, embracing the quintessential pirate-style flair like a costume. Fen stares at his eyes and the dark stubble framing his jawline and underneath his nose. He looks familiar, but Fen can’t place where she’d seen him before.

At the sight of Fen and the princess, he breaks into a huge grin. “My boys said you were offering gold. But I think they found the crown jewel. Show me some magic.”

Princess Margo cuts the ropes binding her and Fen with a shard of ice. Then, to Fen’s surprise, she runs forward and hoops her arms around the man’s neck. “Eliot!” 

“Sorry if I scared you.” Eliot picks the princess up and spins her around, making her laugh. “Had to be sure it wasn’t you-know-who pretending to be you.”

Then Eliot puts her down and gazes curiously at Fen, who is standing at the mask, watching the exchange. “I see you’ve picked up a new stray in my absence.” 

“Cock,” Margo says, slapping him on the shoulder.

Eliot tousles her hair, then looks at Fen and offers a hand for her to shake. “Hello. I’m Eliot. I’m sorry we kidnapped you and tied you to a pole.”

Fen glares but accepts the handshake. “I’m Fen. Tell me what the fuck’s happening.” 

“I like this one.” Eliot gives Margo an approving look before addressing Fen again. “Welcome aboard the Muntjac.”

Eliot saunters back into the chart room with his arm around Princess Margo’s shoulder, and beckons Fen to follow. Ten men are gathered inside the room, watching the newcomers with wide eyes. Fen looks around, disoriented and confused, until her eyes land on the very person she has been searching for tonight—Josh Hoberman, sipping a mug of hot tea in his pajamas, beaming at the sight of his best friend.


	6. Making Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of past character death.

_There was no way the intel wasn’t a setup. Deserters at Obsidian Bay? Margo had never known the anarchists to branch out from Stormhold._

_Regardless, Margo did her due diligence with the rest of the Centurion Guards and sailed the ocean, searching for the dock. The Muntjac enjoyed the view more than the humans on board, if the quick on-and-off glowing of her heart was any indication. Margo stood at the forecastle and leaned her elbow against the rails. She hoped they weren’t sailing into a trap, but optimism wasn’t a fitting mood for missions like hers. Rescuing people was what mattered, and they weren’t picky about the possibilities of the intel being right; they weren’t about to cock out because there was a moderate chance that this trip would be a waste of time._

_Margo’s view of the ocean went from “big load of nothing” to “where the fuck did that ship come from” in a blink. It seemed a charm had lifted from the ship that blocked their path, which made it visible. Eliot joined Margo at the forecastle and narrowed his eyes at the hostile encounter while the rest of her guards gathered on the deck, magic and weapons at the ready. The ship turned and pulled up beside them, and Margo noticed the Floater Crest._

_One person walked across the plank and onto the Muntjac’s deck—a seventeen-year-old with a grin cockier than his scrawny-ass stature was entitled to, dressed in pirate garb straight out of a Wildfaire costume party. It was Lieutenant Pumice, a year Margo’s senior and newly promoted into the high rank. He marched toward her friends like he owned the place._

_To be fair, the Muntjac was in Floater territory, but ships from Stormhold had had clearance to dock in their ally’s beaches since the last midwinter. Pumice was looking to stir shit up, to hide behind the queen’s name because he could get away with it. As the son of two commanders who had served Queen Agate since she’d taken the throne, he was well-respected in her ranks._

_“We’re on a mission,” Margo blocked Pumice’s path, stationing herself in front of her guards. “Obsidian Bay. Heard of it?”_

_“I am aware of the alleged prison.” Pumice took a step back, but pointed his unsheathed sword at her chest, as if daring her to step aside. “But my ship was… entranced by your presence. He stopped of his own accord. I am speaking on his behalf.”_

_Margo stood her ground in front of the sword’s tip and took a gander at her surroundings. On the side of the ship was the name_ S.S. Dashing. _Ugh._

_“Sentient vessel? Adorable,” Margo mused. She hadn’t heard of the ship during any meetings with Queen Agate, but this was hardly the queen’s biggest secret. “Tell your new friend to fuck off and find some other lady ship to woo. We don’t have time for a meet-cute.”_

_“Charming here has made up his mind.” Pumice stood his ground. His gaze traveled from her face down to where her cleavage was beneath her bomber jacket, the fucking perv, and then he winked. “My ship wants to fuck your ship, and we’re not leaving until he does.”_

_Even above deck, Margo could feel the Muntjac’s heart pounding faster, sending vibrations through the wooden structure. The Muntjac was pleading to be spared, knowing the princess got the final say and could order her to give in. Whatever vibe the S.S. Dashing-My-Ass was giving off must have been all red flags and terrible news._

_“The answer’s no. We’re leaving.”_

_“You wouldn’t dare,” Pumice warned. “You are in Her Majesty’s sea territory.”_

_Margo raised her fist and said, “You’re about to choke on Her Majesty’s seawater.”_

_Eliot and the other guards readied to back her up, but she shook her head, requesting them to stand down. They obliged. Margo encased her fisted hand in an ice gauntlet. Before Pumice could cry out to mommy or the Majesty in question, she picked him up by his collar and tossed him into the sea, and kicked off the plank, and called for the Muntjac to sail the fuck away._

* * *

_Margo sat at the gazebo with Prince Micah beside her, thankful for the peace and quiet after two hours of diplomatic mingling at the banquet. The banquet was held at the Floating-Mountain, a necessity as Stormhold had not opened itself to visitors since King Rupert’s time. Sharing a dance with the Prince-Ess of Loria had been by far the worst part of her evening. Which was saying something, considering tonight was the rehearsal dinner for her wedding. Now that she was eighteen, she was old enough to marry._

_“Your hair is falling loose, Your Highness.” Micah reached for a piece of her hair that had fallen through the braided crown. “Allow me.”_

_He tucked the strand of hair back in, weaving through the plait with delicate fingers._

_“Margo,” she insisted. She bunched up the tulle of her gown and shrugged her feet out of the cute, shiny stilettos of death that the chambermaids had forced onto her hours ago. “If we’re supposed to marry, Charming, you can at least start using my name.”_

_“I apologize.” Micah inclined his head. “Perhaps you could do me the honors of reciprocating.”_

_Snark. First attempt, not too shabby. Margo turned to the prince with one eyebrow raised._

_“Alright. Micah. That better?”_

_“Much.”_

_The quip drew a smile out of Margo, the first one of the day that she didn’t have to fake. At the very least, Prince Micah was a gentleman, and easy on the eyes. He was a Floater, and as such, he abided by the matriarchal ideals under which he was raised. As far as arranged marriages went, things could have been much worse._

_“You wanna kiss?” Margo asked, “Practice for when we have to do it at the altar?”_

_He swallowed and looked away at the suggestion. “I can’t.”_

_“Relax, I was shitting you. We’ll wait ‘till the wedding.”_

_“It’s not that,” he lowered his voice. “It’s my mother. She wanted this to happen. The marriage, the alliance, it was all a setup.”_

_Margo nodded and scanned the periphery for eavesdroppers, but found no one. Her father had suspected as much, but even so, there was nothing to be done. Margo had attacked Prince Fomar in Floating-Mountain waters, and Queen Agate had demanded an alliance as a way for Margo to repent her sins._

_“It doesn’t change anything,” Margo said._

_He shook his head. “There’s something else. My mother planned to provoke you and force your father’s hand. She found out King Raymond had sent the assassins that killed my father. The alliance from our engagement is her retribution.”_

_These were the last words he said before an arrow landed in his back, and he died in her arms._

* * *

It only takes one hologram call from Alice to clear everything up. After Alice learned Fen’s name, she found Fen, along with Zelda’s daughter Harriet, in the Wolfs’ files at their headquarters. Fen is part of the Free Trader Beowulf just like Margo and Eliot and the rest of his crew on board—a fact which makes her mutual interrogation with Margo back on the hovercraft comical in retrospect. 

Though Fen is still giving Margo the cold shoulder, because Margo fucked up her hovercraft and left them stranded at a cliff. An understandable reaction.

In her brief investigation, Alice has also uncovered another person of interest—Julia Wicker, a person with whom Margo thought she would never cross paths. Julia had been Quentin’s best friend before Everett banished her from the kingdom. 

If Quentin were on board the Muntjac right now, he’d be ecstatic, but the poor boy has gotten hurt on a recent expedition to the Uncanny Shallows, a strange lake in the Kingdom of Brighthaven. The lake’s surface reflects nothing, though the water is clear enough to see every fish and other creatures scuttling in its depths. Unfortunately, the lake is surrounded by slippery stones, and poor Quentin, entranced by the wonders underneath the surface, has taken a tumble and busted his knee on a sharp rock.

Which is why, after two years of traveling off the grid, Eliot has reached out to the Wolfs and requested medical help. Seriously, it’s a miracle the boys have survived this long without medical emergencies. Currently, Quentin is at the infirmary in the Neitherlands, exactly where Margo is headed. The Wolfs have arranged Eliot and his crew as Margo’s Plan B for her trip, and they had arrived at the cliff in time to get her, following Alice’s notice. 

The Wolfs’ original plan was for Zelda to bring Margo to the Neitherlands through various mirror-portals, but Zelda’s shop has gotten compromised by the Order of Reclamations. Zelda has escaped underground without a means to reach out to the Wolfs until it was almost too late. But it wasn’t. 

If anything, things have worked out better than Margo could have hoped. Margo has slipped out of the castle, knowing she’d be in touch with Alice or Kady, someone who would connect to Gallop’s interface and supervise her escape attempt. The last thing she expected was to see Eliot and the boys again. Two years ago, Margo set Eliot free after spending too many years unwilling to part with her best friend, and Eliot has taken his boyfriend and Josh and the rest of the Junior Centurion Guards. The circumstances around their departure hadn’t been ideal—the boys had deserted, as far as the law was concerned, but it was the only way they could be free of the obligations King Raymond had forced on them. 

All things considered, it’s been a weird fucking night, and Margo misses her Eliot more than she cares to admit.

* * *

Margo sleeps fretfully for a few hours, waking up and passing back out, rinse and repeat, until finally, the tiredness escapes her. After another hour of staring at the dark ceiling of her room, she gives up and turns on the lamp. She puts on a set of clothes Eliot has placed on her chair sometime during the night—old stuff she’d left on this ship when she was nineteen before Eliot and boys took off to travel the world with her blessings.

She steps out and walks on tip-toes. The hallway is quiet except for the faint thumping sound coming from the simulation chamber on the hull’s lower level. Margo finds the stairs by memory, feeling strangely nostalgic, and descends into the lounge searching for food.

There is a bunch of shit Margo needs to address from last night’s ordeal. She sits at a high stool by the kitchen counter and goes over them in her head as she scarfs down her coffee and what appears to be a Josh-Hoberman-crafted muffin left in the fridge. As it turns out, Fen has been searching for the same people Margo was. In a way. And she and Margo both believe in Josh’s innocence. What were the odds that they were on the same side? Josh never talked much about his old life besides the parents who adopted him and raised him in a village called Wall. If Margo had known who Fen was searching for… 

But she _had_ known. Fen had called Margo by Josh’s name last night when they’d run into each other. In her desperation to slip away, Margo hadn’t paid the detail any mind. She had treated Fen like a pain in the ass and planned to ditch her at some point in the hijacked ride. And she can’t blame Fen for not reiterating her true intentions in Stormhold. If Fen was out looking for fugitives, the crown fucking princess was the last person she’d confess to. 

Margo winces at the memory of her snapping at Fen last night, the sound of her outburst muffled by the ocean wind, the remainder of Fen’s hovercraft broken underneath their feet as they stood at the cliff with nowhere left to go. Margo only had stopped her outburst right before the Muntjac pulled up. Maybe it was the crestfallen look in Fen’s eyes that made Margo swallow back her vent of frustration, or maybe it was the fact that Fen had backed away from Margo with a terror in her eyes that made Margo recoil on instinct. 

Margo is no stranger to this kind of fear. It is one she has seen in her subjects many times, the way they stop in their tracks when she’s in their presence, the way they recoil when her eyes meet theirs, as much as they try to hide it. As the crown princess, this reaction is not something Margo could control, but she feels responsible for it. Last night she had unleashed the bitchy side of herself to Fen without guilt, slipping into a rage that greeted her like an old addiction. She can get so angry at people who deserve none of it. It is something she had seen in her father, something she had hoped she’d never inherit.

The continued thumping noises from the simulation chamber remind Margo that she’s not the only one awake. After finishing her food, she goes down the hall to investigate the noise. The chamber is dome-shaped with two layers of walls, designed for training. The outer wall is a thick layer of silicone to absorb shock from weapons crashing against it, and the inside layer is a giant display screen consisting of pixelated lights, too small for the naked eye to see. Like Fen’s hovercraft from last night, the chamber responds to commands from a neurolink headband, and the display screen changes the backdrop based on the trainee’s desire.

Margo slides the door open and steps into a lush forest grove that comes to life around her: the last droplets of rain sliding down the leaves of the surrounding trees, which stand tall and only leave a sliver of sky overhead. A family of blue robins perches on a high branch near the center of the dome. Though the simulation has no sound, it’s easy to imagine the birds singing. 

Fen is inside, walking with a dexterity in her steps that reminds Margo of martial artists, her footsteps gentle enough that no twig snaps under her gait. Margo debates announcing her presence, but decides to stay quiet and fade into the backdrop. Fen unsheathes a knife from her belt—there are four holstered by the right-hand side—and throws it across the forest clearing with a perfect arc. It hits Fen’s target straight in the eye, a squirrel which vanishes from the display on the wall once it’s hit. 

The knife bounces off the silicone and slides on the ground, stopping near Margo’s feet. “I’ll get it,” Margo says, announcing her presence.

Fen turns at the sound of her voice, eyes wide like she has spotted a predator. Her shoulders relax when she realizes who it is, but not for long. Margo hands the blade over. Fen takes it back with a scowl.

“That was impressive,” Margo continues. She reminds herself to smile, hoping to start her apology on the right foot. “You’re a hunter?”

“What do you want?”

Despite all her expectations of Fen’s residual anger from the night before, the rejection still stings. Margo breathes in and tells herself to drop the bullshit. She had robbed Fen, and she deserves this. It’s been years since anyone dared to tell Margo what they think of her, and she has to make peace, to earn Fen’s genuine forgiveness.

“I want to apologize,” Margo says slowly, the words sounding foreign in her voice. “I’m sorry about last night. For being an ungrateful cunt about you saving my ass, because you did save me. And I’m sorry for robbing you, and wrecking your hovercraft. It _is_ a hovercraft, right?”

“I prefer ‘orbital death machine’,” Fen says. She presses her lips tight to look serious, but when Margo’s eyes meet hers, she bursts into giggles. 

Relief washes over Margo, but the guilt continues to gnaw at her conscience. She remembers the wreckage of broken sheets of metal they stood in as they shouted at each other. “I don’t know if I could replace it, but if I could…”

“You can’t.” Fen’s smile is sad, but the hostility in her voice has gone. “But I forgive you. It’s not your fault the hovercraft broke under strain. It was an old prototype. And I got where I needed to go.”

Margo holds out her hand. “Truce?”

“Truce,” Fen agrees.

* * *

“So. Knife throwing?” Margo asks after Fen accepts her apology.

The backdrop stops moving like the forest has gone still. “How much have you seen?”

“Enough to know not to piss you off again.”

“Good call.”

“Do you mind if I stay and watch?”

Fen considers it for a long moment. Margo is about to say never mind and excuse herself out of the room when she hears, “This will sound crazy, but. What if we—what if we spar?”

“What?”

“Forget it,” Fen says quickly. 

Margo shakes her head. “No. Why not. Let’s do it.”

“I’ll use my child’s play knife.”

“Alright. Hand-to-hand? No magic?”

“You can use magic. Just keep your ice daggers dull.”

“You sure?”

Fen is smug in a way that borders on teasing. “I can handle it. You want the neurolink?”

“You keep it.”

Fen nods and lets the forest backdrop resume. She is in her element as she sizes Margo up. Margo starts slow and aims a jet of ice at Fen’s feet. Fen leaps out of the way before the ice can trap her in place. The ice sticks out of the ground like an exposed landmine of blue crystals. 

“Nice reflex,” Margo says, holding her other hand back so Fen doesn’t see the frost gathering at her fingertips. “Guess I won’t go easy on you.”

“Good.”

All of a sudden, the backdrop goes completely dark. When the display comes back on, they are at the same forest grove at night time. The scene is pitch-black save for the twinkling stars above and glowing orange campfire far behind the thicket of trees. 

“Nice diversion,” Margo admits.

Margo searches for Fen and finds her near the ceiling, gloating at the top of a rock-climbing wall. A series of metal knobs protrude from one of the wall panels that make up the dome, a hidden feature that most trainees never unlock. Of course, a lady from Filmore would get creative with technology like this. Margo forces back her look of surprise. 

A rope ladder extends horizontally across the dome’s top right underneath the apex, another feature unleashed by the neurolink’s command. With the forest grove in the background, the ropes appear to be tied on two trees across the forest clearing. Fen is already kneeling on top of the rope ladder, balanced with cat-like grace. 

With her free hand, Fen throws her blade at Margo’s shoulder. Margo steps back, light on her feet, and parries it with a shield of ice from her hand. The tip of the child’s play knife retreats into the handle as it makes contact with Margo’s shield.

Fen switches hands on the ladder, and the blade soars back to her grasp. At Margo’s look of surprise, she chuckles and flashes the wide silver ring on her thumb. It’s plain without any carvings or stones, unassuming except it functions as a magnet. 

Umber’s balls, she’s crafty.

Margo stomps her foot, and a pillar of ice rises from the ground below her, boosting her up to the rope ladder’s height. She kicks off from the makeshift platform of ice and grabs onto the rope, and swings herself over the top as the ice pillar evaporates into the air. The ladder sways under Margo’s feet, but she keeps her face stoic and frees one hand, just in time to block another blade attack from Fen. 

Margo stabilizes herself by encasing the ladder with a layer of ice, stiffening the ropes to crouch on hands-free. Fen flips down to the underside with a sloth-like grip and climbs toward Margo. She sways like a pendulum, left and right, dodging all of Margo’s ice pellets as she approaches. It would be much easier to take her if Margo was shooting sharp spears, but she won’t endanger Fen just for a win. 

Fen’s neurolink band glows, and another rope unleashes out of a trapdoor from the ceiling—a straight climbing rope that extends vertically to the ground with a knot at the end. Then Fen propels herself forward, leaps through the air, and grabs onto the climbing rope. At the motion, the hem of her shirt lifts to reveal her midriff. The distraction brings her enough time to slide down, grinning victoriously meanwhile. 

Treacherously, Margo’s magic caves to the diversion of Fen’s muscular midsection. The ice vanishes from the rope ladder, making it floppy again. Margo wobbles in her step and gathers the frost back to stabilize her footing. The child’s play knife swishes by while she’s busy stabilizing the ladder. The knife’s handle brushes her elbow in taunting.

Fen slides her way back to the ground. Margo kicks off from the ladder to grab the climbing rope. Once secured, she finds Fen standing below and winks. Two can play at this distraction game. Ice crawls from the edge of the room toward Fen’s backside while Margo slides down the rope. As Margo descends, she sends a path of ice toward Fen. Fen backs away to avoid it, only to step right into the ice trap behind her. 

The two paths of ice meet in the middle, trapping Fen in place. Before the ice reaches her torso, Fen breaks off a piece at her feet with a relatively sharp point. She throws the ice, not in Margo’s direction, but much higher. The shard shreds the climbing rope while Margo is still climbing her way down. An air mattress blows up from another corner of the room and glides to the center of the floor. Margo lets go before the rope can snap fully and lands on her back, bouncing along with the mattress’ surface.

Meanwhile, Fen has broken free. She runs over to yank at the mattress before Margo can push herself up, her delighted giggle echoing around the dome. This time Margo knows not to dawdle, and she rolls off the mattress. Fen catches on and kicks the mattress aside. Margo sits up, but Fen’s hands grab her shoulders before she could dodge. As Fen attempts to push Margo back down to a lying position to declare her victory, Margo tickles Fen from the side. 

Fen squirms and inches away from Margo’s hands with a shriek of laughter, loosening her grip on her shoulders. Finding an opportunity, Margo rises on her feet and brings Fen down with one arm locked over her midsection and the other underneath her head to cushion her fall. Shackles of ice lock Fen’s limbs in place. Margo crosses one leg over Fen’s body and kneels, pinning her between her legs. 

Margo looks down and meets her eyes, propping her hands by Fen’s shoulders. 

Fen catches her breath as she stares back at the woman on top of her. “You tickled me,” she complaints, her voice no louder than a whisper as she scrunches her nose. “That’s cheating.”

Margo leans forward and smirks. “Says who?” 

Fen humphs in admission of her defeat. Her cheeks are an impossibly bright pink, flushed from the exertion of their intense spar. Margo examines her parted lips, rosy as the rest of her. Fen’s chest rises and falls, her warm breath ticking Margo’s face. She smiles at Margo and doesn’t push herself free, but she tears her gaze away from Margo after a moment with a look of uncertainty. 

Whatever Margo feels about Fen is unrequited. But Margo doesn’t dwell; she pushes herself up and rises to a standing position, then releases the ice shackles binding Fen in place. Now is not the right time to cave in front of a cute stranger, much less one who only intends to stay with her for a short time. Soon, after Margo clears Josh’s name, he and Fen will find a way home. They have no business in the mess of Stormhold politics, and Margo will not complicate Fen’s rescue mission in the name of feelings.

“How about we call it a draw?” Margo asks, holding out her hand.

“Alright.” Fen takes her hand and pulls herself up. “But for the record, Your Highness—if I were wearing armor, I would have had you beat.”

Fen doesn’t comment on the moment they spent gazing into each other’s eyes. Perhaps she’s trying to spare Margo’s feelings, just as Margo is trying to spare hers.

“Call me Margo.”

Their eyes meet again.

* * *

Dawn has broken at some point during Margo’s spar with Fen in the simulation chamber. Instead of leaving the room to watch the real sunrise from a porthole or out on the deck, Fen directs the pixels around the dome to reflect the outside’s view. They lie on the ground next to each other, sharing a moment of blissful silence as they pretend they are underneath a skylight. 

Last night’s ordeal had left Margo restless despite getting so little sleep. Her muscles ache from exertion. She’s warming up now that the spar is over, recovering the lost heat from her icy blasts, but her body twitches in anticipation like she is still in combat. Ever since the Junior Centurion Guards disbanded, Margo has been out of practice. Mayakovsky’s departure from Blackspire last year has only made the problem worse, but she picks fights whenever she could back at the castle, mostly with the crownguards she had grown up knowing. 

“How’d you know I ran away?” Margo asks, still staring at the ceiling of the dome.

Fen stares at Margo unblinking for a few seconds before she remembers what Margo meant. Last night, while the two of them soared away in Fen’s hovercraft with the royal forces in pursuit, Fen had asked Margo why she was out during her coronation before they were unfortunately interrupted by the vehicle’s wreckage in mid-air. 

“The outer shell of your armor was loose,” Fen says. “You made it work ‘cause the kevlar backing is flexible, but it was noticeable up close. Also, a helmet with a visor? Not something a crownguard would wear. Plus, you know, your motorcycle turns invisible.”

“Not invisible. Just holograms.”

“Alright. Still.”

“Impressive,” Margo concedes. She considers winking at Fen, but decides to spare the poor girl after the fluster she’d given her during their spar earlier. “You know a lot about weaponry?”

“My specialty is knives, but I had to learn how to make them cut through anything.”

“Who taught you?”

“Well, I…” Fen focuses on the clouds projected overhead, watching them as she mulls over her words. “I taught myself, mostly. But my mom worked with metal, so she did inspire me.”

It’s like a switch has gone off in Fen’s mind at the mention of her mom, shutting away the smugness she’d had when she talked about knives. Maybe Margo has touched a nerve with her question. “Sorry if I crossed a line,” Margo says. 

There’s no point for Margo to lie about her intentions now that she’s hours away from her kingdom. With friends, she can afford to be blunt. And with Fen, well, Fen has already seen the worst of Margo from last night.

“You haven’t,” Fen assures, turning her head away from the clouds to meet Margo’s eyes. “I’m okay with talking about this. It’s just hard to wrap my head around it. I started making knives because I remember my mom working with metal. She had a forge and everything, not far from my house, so teaching myself felt, I don’t know, easy?”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah.” Fen smiles, and the fierce woman Margo has sparred with moments earlier is gone, replaced by someone soft-spoken. “I don’t know if a part of me was trying to reconnect with my mom when I made knives, but it seems unlikely. I barely knew her.”

“I get that.”

Fen looks shocked, but a moment later, she catches on. Margo expects this realization from everyone. Queen Samira’s death had been all over the news across the world when it happened. Fen isn’t much younger than Margo, so she could have remembered. “Do you feel the same way about your mother?”

“If by ‘same way’ you mean confused, yes.”

“Sorry.” Fen’s expression turns sheepish. “Should we talk about something else?”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it—the king is dead, and I’m next in line. I’m already a walking target. And don’t worry about bringing up my mom; that shit happened a long time ago.”

“Okay.”

For good measure, Margo gives Fen a nod to confirm she’s not pissed. 

“I, umm,” Fen continues, drumming the floor with her fingers, “I want to give you my condolences. For the king—I-I mean, your father. And also your mother, I know it happened a long time ago, but I… I’m sorry. I haven’t got much practice. With offering condolences.”

Margo chuckles, startling both Fen and herself. No matter how allegedly unpracticed, Fen’s condolence is nicer than the looks of pity Margo had received around Blackspire yesterday; those sympathetic gazes cast upon the tragic little princess. Margo ignores the warmth in her chest at the thought of someone giving a shit about the assassination. Her father has made a lot of enemies, many of whom are from Fen’s nation. It was only a matter of time before someone got to him. 

This knowledge doesn’t make his dying suck any less, but it explains why Margo doesn’t feel much of anything about the assassination. Someday, she might. Or she thinks she might because a normal daughter would mourn.

“Stop apologizing,” Margo says. “You don’t need to be sorry for not knowing what the fuck you could say.”

“I’m glad you appreciate my condolence.”

“That’s better.” Margo turns to the side to give Fen her full attention. The pretty sky backdrop can wait. “If it makes you feel less like a dick, I’m terrible at these things, too.”

“Haven’t you ever… I don’t know, trained to deal with formalities? Like, royal etiquette?”

This time Margo laughs, and Fen looks at her like she’s losing it. “Did King Raymond look like the type who gave a fuck about sparing people’s feelings?”

Fen’s silence answers the question well enough.

“I haven’t got much practice with condolences,” Margo continues. “I’m usually at the receiving end. And my training was mostly in combat and magical theory-type shit. The whole etiquette custom is outdated except for the worst parts.”

Margo doesn’t mention the specifics: systemic misogyny, arranged marriages for an alliance, among other “nefarious political ploys”, as Eliot would call them. Judging by the pity in Fen’s eyes, the message is clear. The rising sun in the background illuminates this moment of shared understanding, conveniently so.

“My condolences on Prince Micah, too, speaking of that,” Fen says. “I heard it on the news three years back. I don’t know sure how close you were, but it must’ve been hard.”

Now basking in artificial simulations of the morning, Fen seems to be more at ease. For all that they’d argued last night, they are moving past that point of contention. Fen may have become Margo’s ally by chance, but they’ve got a lot in common for two people who had come from very different worlds.

“I appreciate it,” Margo says. 

“If you want to talk about it—I mean, I barely know you, and there’s Eliot who you’ll probably prefer to talk to but—if you want to rant, or something, I’ll listen.”

“Some other time, but thank you.” In return, Margo offers, “I’ll ask Eliot to page the Wolfs once he’s up. See if they can send a Traveler to get you and Josh and Quentin back home.”

“I’d like that. It means more than I can say.”

Margo hadn’t gotten to know Josh that long before he left her to travel the world with the other boys. His personality has been loud and clear; his signature flamboyance was crafted into every dish he’d made back in the kitchen of Castle Blackspire. But his past has been a complete mystery, the one thing he keeps to himself. Last night a part of that past had revealed itself when Josh and Fen looked at each other like reunited best friends.

“You and Josh were close, weren’t you?” Margo asks. 

“Yeah. I don’t remember much about my mom. She left when I was four. It’s just dad and me now. But the Hobermans were always good to me. And there’s Julia, too.” Her voice catches at the mention of her name.

“Girlfriend?”

“Not anymore.”

Fen and Josh had shared very little about this Julia woman last night except that they’re close friends of hers. And Margo knows about Julia’s past with Quentin before the Reclamationists fucked up her life by banishing her. There’s something more to Julia’s story that Fen isn’t willing to share. For now, Margo lets it go, knowing it’s not the right time. 

“Josh was like family to us both,” Fen continues. “We knew about his magic.”

Margo has suspected as much. Fen seems very comfortable with Margo’s power earlier, for someone who comes from a nation where magic is condemned. Maybe Josh isn’t the only magician she knows. “I’m glad you accepted him.”

“I know you must hear a lot about how Filmore hates magic,” Fen says, having guessed what’s on her mind. “But some of us see it differently.”

“Is that why you joined the Wolfs?”

Fen pauses. Shrugs. “In a way, the Wolfs found me. Josh was under their protection. But now with the wanted poster? I’m not sure how much more the Wolfs can do for us.”

“What if you hide in the Neitherlands for a few weeks?”

“Maybe. But I can’t leave Julia back home by herself. There’s been a few changes since King Raymond’s assassination. Curfews, surveillance bots… I don’t know if the authorities might take Jules in for questioning ‘cause Josh was her friend, too.”

“We can get a Traveler to bring her over. The wards are tricky, but we’ll think of something.”

“Are you sure it’ll work?”

“The Neitherlands is secluded in the middle of the ocean,” Margo assures her. “People have been trying to find it for years. No one succeeded. Not even my father.”

“Is it because of the Wellspring?”

“The Wellspring powers the illusions so no one can find the place. I’m guessing you know because of the Wolfs?”

“Yeah, they told me. That’s how Everett’s people got their powers.” Then she adds, “Can I ask how you feel about people who acquired magic that way?”

Margo raises an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“I—nevermind.” Fen looks away.

“I won’t make you spill all your secrets after knowing me for less than a day. But it looks like we’re stuck together. Not that I hate you,” Margo adds, noting Fen’s affronted look. “Fuck. No. That came out wrong.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

The smirk accompanied by this question shows that Fen is, in fact, teasing.

“If anything, you’re fun to spar with,” Margo admits. “Look, what I’m trying to say is, shit’s weird, we’re on the run, Eliot and the boys and I are bringing you into some secret hideout, and I trust you. Because it’s been a whole night, and you would’ve betrayed us already if you wanted to. But if there’s something about the Wellspring that rubs you the wrong way, tell us now, and we’ll—I don’t know, work around it?”

“You mean you won’t ditch me in the middle of the ocean?” This time, Fen is completely serious.

“No ditching. Promise.”

“Okay.” Fen looks back at her. “I know someone who wasn’t born with magic. She got it from the Wellspring. And I know it sounds like she stole it, but she had to. She was in danger, and she was trying to save herself—”

“Fen,” Margo stops her from unleashing a full-on ramble, “I get it. And I won’t judge her.”

It’s not hard to guess who that someone might be.

“Why not?”

“I know you’re not with the Reclamationists because Everett seemed to hate your guts. And I know Zelda—I’m assuming the Wolfs gave you her life story?”

“Right,” Fen says, embarrassed. “I forgot about Zelda.”

“I had a friend like that,” Margo continues. “She pulled magic from the Wellspring somehow. It saved her. Maybe it chose to save her and give her power. Whatever the case is, she embraced it. She found her discipline. I can’t say she didn’t deserve to be a magician, too.”

Fen has gone from avoiding Margo’s eyes to staring at her, scrutinizing her. Has Margo said too much, or just enough to make it clear that she won’t think any less of Julia because of how she has connected to her magic? Whatever the case, Fen keeps her suspicions to herself.

“She sounds nice,” Fen says. “What’s her name?”

Fen watches Margo for a reaction, probably wondering if she’s overstepping. 

“Alice. You met her last night.”

Fen nods, recognizing the name. They watch the pixelated pink-and-orange sunset turn into a clear blue sky. The sun must be beaming down at the ship from overhead, but the simulation doesn’t display it lest it ruins their eyes with the brightness. Margo’s ice has dissipated and traveled out of the air vents along the bottom edge of the dome. Her muscles will ache tomorrow, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

“I wonder,” Fen says quietly, trying not to disturb the rare moment of peace, “if this might all be connected. It sounds silly, I know, but we both know Josh. Somehow he’s a wanted fugitive, him, of all people. And we’re both with the Wolfs.”

“It’s possible,” Margo says. “Everett was up to something last night.”

“Do you think he had anything to do with your father?”

“It’s either him or the Deserters. The Wolfs know something we don’t—we’ll have more answers once we get to the Neitherlands and touch base.”

“Is that why you ran?”

“I got a warning that something might happen at the coronation.”

Fen doesn’t pry, for which Margo is grateful. She has respected any secrets Margo might have for the time being, in the same way Margo is letting Fen keep hers. But if the situation escalates in a way Margo can’t handle, and if Fen is somehow roped into the same mess, trusting her with the whole truth about their current destination may be the best strategy.

It’s been years since Margo has last trusted anyone with what she is about to admit, but she decides to take a chance.

“There’s something you should know about my mom. About Queen Samira,” Margo says, closing eyes and bracing herself. She feels an inexplicable sense of relief upon taking this leap of faith. “She’s alive. And she’s at the Neitherlands waiting for us.”


	7. Catching Lightning

_Harriet stood and watched Freya come into view at the mirror’s surface, her reflection rippling before steadying itself. Behind her is the Free Trader Beowulf’s armory in all its underground glory. As a ferrokinetic who manipulates metal, Freya would spend her days there in blissful solitude, forging weapons with her bare hands as if they were made of clay._

_“You found another?” Freya asked, and Harriet read her lips._

_There was no audio feedback from the enchantment_ — _perfect for Harriet, terrible for eavesdroppers. Of which there were lots, as the mirror sat in her home office on the third floor of the museum, her door standing ajar so she could keep an eye on her children in their rooms_

_“She was in the Darkling Woods, shapeshifted as a fox.” Harriet signed into the mirror. On Freya’s end, her reflection would appear with subtitles beneath, automatically translating each sentence. “She escaped from Everett’s caravan. They came from Stormhold, bound for Swiftstrand. There were five other captives.”_

_Even now, months later, Harriet dreaded to think what might have happened to the poor girl had Harriet not stumbled upon her and recognized her as human. Surveillance was difficult when the Wolfs’ target was a shapeshifter who could transform others as well as himself._

_“I’ll alert the Filmorian operatives at the south coast.” Freya winced. “Thank Gods, the girl got away.”_

_“Her name is Julia.” Harriet spelled out the letters. “She’s thirteen. The same age as your daughter.”_

_Harriet’s wristband vibrated, and the light above her door flickered, a signal of commotion. She peered out into the hallway. On the far end, Fen and Julia were sprinting up the stairs, racing toward the girls’ room. They waved, and Harriet waved back with a smile._

_“They came back from school,” Harriet explained, watching Freya’s look of guilt. “Julia hadn’t been keen to make friends. Somehow Fen was an exception.”_

_“Is there…” Freya trailed off. Harriet encouraged her with a nod. “Will you ever tell her about_ — _us?”_

_Harriet hadn’t known Freya for long before she packed up her life and moved to Filmore, but they were both Wolfs loyal to the same pack, bound by mutual respect. As such, after Freya had escaped from the Deserters and joined the Free Trader Beowulf three years ago, Harriet accepted the duty of watching over Freya’s daughter. A life surrounded by books was never her calling; Zelda had accepted her daughter’s ambitions, but she was rightfully concerned about Harriet living in a kingdom that believed her magic to be a threat._

_The perks of being an illusionist were that Harriet could hide in plain sight, so long as the village was small enough to be in the range of her spells. Her magic was needed here more than back in headquarters, where twenty other illusionists could pick up her work. The Deserters hadn’t known about Fen when they took Freya, but word would get around, and Fen would be a sitting duck. Harriet had cloaked the village to make it impossible to find, assisted by batteries where ambient powers couldn’t suffice._

_“They will find out sooner or later,” Harriet signed. “Fen already knows of my illusions, and Josh’s secret, and where my other children came from. She has opened her heart without question. Accepted us without a doubt. My concern is her father.”_

_It wasn’t a secret that Dint had grown obsessed with finding Freya. Harriet had lost sympathy the third time Fen had spent the night at the museum. But for Fen and Freya’s sake, she worried about the man, especially the associates he had chosen in his search for his abducted wife. Fen had discovered her father’s transactions, conversations over the network with people whose identities the Wolfs can’t trace._

_Harriet’s illusions were as fragile as they were crucial. Outsiders may not be able to find Wall on their own, but one of those days, Dint could bring trouble back home. Trouble of the magical kind._

_“I don’t want to force her hand,” Freya said. “To make her keep our secret. Turn her against her father.”_

_“I think,” Harriet told her, watching the door to the girls’ room shut, “she has already chosen.”_

* * *

Margo’s body grows warmer as her ice melts around the simulation chamber, intense enough that Fen can feel the heat from where she’s lying beside her. Fen gravitates toward her unknowingly until their arms touch, but Margo doesn’t jerk away. Their fingers graze gently against one another’s.

The door opens, and Eliot’s silhouette shadows against the colorful backdrop.

“You have to see this,” he says to Margo when she pulls herself up. Then, his gaze turning to Fen, he adds, “Sorry. Bad time?”

The look Margo gives Eliot looks like a glare, but Fen must be imagining things. Fen removes her neurolink headband, and the sunrise disappears behind gray walls. Margo stays behind and helps Fen up, and Eliot hands them a jacket each before they follow him out of the room. 

This morning Fen has stepped into the dome of the simulation chamber, and the neurolink has presented itself to her. She has lost herself in a pixelated version of the Darkling Woods before Margo has stumbled upon her in training. Fen hasn’t expected Margo to apologize, and she certainly hasn’t expected to forgive Margo so quickly. But she could tell Margo was sincere, and now they are unlikely allies. Certainly a welcome change.

Eliot leads them into the lounge at the bow of the ship. The crew, including Josh, are all sitting in front of a large telescreen mounted to the wall, exchanging uneasy looks. 

The men part ways, making space for their captain and their guests. Margo puts on the jacket Eliot handed her, a black bomber with the royal crest printed in gold on the back. Fen is bundled up in an identical jacket of the same size. Could this have once belonged to Margo, too? And why does that make her so pleased?

Eliot rewinds the paused video and slings his arm over Margo’s shoulder. Margo stares ahead expressionless without blinking, though she leans into his touch. The broadcast starts with the logo of the Stormhold Gazette, a news channel that exclusively broadcasts events happening in Stormhold.

_Live from Blackspire: PRINCESS MARGO EVADES CORONATION. GENERAL McALLISTER DECLARES SIEGE._

Ceremonial music blasts through the speakers on the wall as the broadcast begins, played by a live orchestra on the left corner of the throne room beside the dais. The throne room in Castle Blackspire is massive, but the crowd is thin this time and fills half the seats. There is minimal decoration around the room, unlike the lavish royal celebrations Fen had watched on the news in the past. A golden carpet down the middle of the throne room leads to the throne, parting the audience who sit without conversing with their neighbors.

Royal officials in black-and-gold robes stand in a line in front of the throne at the dais. Fen recognizes two of the men. Tick, an advisor descended from the Pickwick family who remains bound to the Head of the Castle by an ancient Word as Bond, faces the camera with a forced smile. And Rafe, the Keeper of the Scrolls, holds a gold crown on a cushion in the middle of the line, his brows furrowed as he awaits the princess who will never arrive.

A loud crashing sound interrupts the orchestra, followed by shouting behind walls. The camera turns to the source of the sound—a woman, fully-clad in armor in front of the parted double doors, arms raised by the doors she has thrown open and the guards lying unconscious in the hall. Irene McAllister, General of the Royal Army, struts down the carpet in her battle armor and leers over the hushed crowd, followed by twelve armed men who stand at the back of the throne room, blocking the exit. Irene eyes the crown in Rafe’s hands but ignores it, and pushes past him to sit cross-legged on the throne.

“Bitch,” Margo mutters. “Zelda said there’d be danger. Should’ve known it was her.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliot offers. Margo lays her head on his shoulder and presses her lips into a thin line.

_“It appears your new queen is too much of a coward to face me,”_ Irene continues.

_“E-Excuse me, General McAllister,”_ Rafe stammers before he swallows and tries to regain his composure, _“this is a closed ceremony.”_

_“You mean Margo hasn’t invited me?”_ Irene’s smile turns saccharine as she turns back to face Rafe, who blanches at her informality. _“What a shame. I thought we had something special.”_

Irene traces a rune in the air, and steel bars drop down from the top of the window frames and lock into place. The camera zooms out of focus and blacks out for a few seconds before it comes back into focus on the faces of the armed men who had crashed into the ceremony with Irene. There is no more banner on the bottom of the screen, no logo of the Stormhold Gazette. Somehow Irene’s minions had hacked the network to broadcast the rest of her announcement off the books. 

“Those are the Centurion Guards,” Eliot explains to Fen, confirming her suspicion. “Queen Samira used to be in charge of them back when she ruled with the king, but after she was gone, McAllister took over. She held her own trials and picked her new team, all of pompous dicks who worship her. They’re insufferable.”

“Yup.” Margo rolls her eyes. “Should’ve seen this coming.”

One man sitting by the end of a middle row ducks beneath two army guards and tries to make a beeline for the double doors at the back. The Centurion Guards part ways to let him out the door. The rest of the crowd looks between the exit and Irene and fall into quiet whispers.

_“You’re all free to evacuate.”_ Irene throws the doors open and holds them there until a few more people shuffle their way out. _“Leave. Now. My friends and I will stay for the princess.”_

Slowly, the remaining crowd shuffles out the door, all of them avoiding eye contact with the Centurion Guards standing by the exit.

_“Princess Margo,”_ Irene says as the camera faces her again. _“We challenge you to a duel. Face us on Fall Equinox at sundown. Right here. The victor gets the crown.”_

“Us,” Eliot repeats, the disdain clear in his voice. “You’d kick her ass back to Hades if you fight her one-on-one, Margo.”

“This is payback,” Margo says.

“For what?” Fen dares herself ask.

“Lance Morrison,” Eliot says.

Fen recognizes the name. Fogg had taught Fen and the other kids the full history. Most teachers would have deemed King Rupert’s partner unremarkable as part of the kingdom’s history, as he was killed in battle before Rupert was crowned king, trying to protect his partner. Lance’s life may not have been impactful in itself, but his death was the catalyst to Rupert’s descent into becoming a self-absorbed king, and it was his selfish obsessions with necromancy, with bringing his partner back to life, that motivated Margo’s parents to overthrow him.

“I know who he is,” Fen says. “But why?”

“Lance was Irene’s uncle,” Margo explains. “I’d suspected she might be holding a grudge. It would’ve been hers if Lance hadn’t died.”

“She and Lance were here from the beginning?” Fen asks.

Eliot nods. “Lance brought her to Stormhold when Rupert started the resistance to drive the non-magicians out.”

“My father wanted to keep his enemies close,” Margo adds. 

The broadcast ends with a shot of Irene sitting on the throne, smiling tauntingly into the camera. Eliot shuts off the broadcast with a disgusted scoff. “Whatever you decide, we’re with you,” he says to Margo.

All eyes fall on the princess, including Fen’s. Margo squirms under their gaze and pulls away from Eliot, but there is a hint of a smile on her face when she asks, “How long until we get to the Neitherlands?”

“We should be there an hour before the sun sets. Early afternoon if we fly without stopping.”

“We have time for a stop,” Margo says. “We’ll need batteries if shit goes south.”

* * *

After the meeting is adjourned, Eliot and Margo fall into a quiet discussion. Josh and the rest of the guys leave the lounge, and Fen follows suit. 

Fen meanders around the Muntjac and gets a better look at the interior. This ship is one of the oldest in the world, named by the nymphs who crafted the structure when Gods had not yet abandoned the people within to fend for themselves. She has assumed the entire ship is made of wood, archaic by today’s standards. Of course, she has based her expectations solely on the chart room where she and Margo had sat last night, surrounded by Eliot and Josh and eleven other men while they explained themselves. 

The chart room and everything else on the main deck look as Fen had expected from a ship that appears old-fashioned from the outside. When Fen has walked through the two levels of the hull in daylight, she realizes the deck is the outlier. The Muntjac has three levels, including the main deck exposed to the sky above. An engine room runs through the lower two levels of the hull at the stern, though the ship doesn’t sound like it’s powered by an engine that helps it stay up above clouds. 

In the upper level of the hull below the main deck, the crew’s quarters lay neatly in two rows with an aisle in between. The sleeping quarters have maintained the original rustic designs, but in the larger rooms near the bow, the rooms are patched with metal supporting technology like telescreens and computer monitors, crawling with wires wrapped along beams of exposed steel on the ceiling to keep out of the way. 

The lower hull is the most modernized, with a large view lounge at the bow that gets its name from the window along the length of the pointed front. There are two changing rooms with training gear and armor on the lower hull. The rooms sandwich the simulation chamber Fen was in earlier, which looks straight out of a modern facility like the famous Nimbus Stadium where magicians compete in annual duel championships. The Muntjac doesn’t look like a military vessel, but the presence of the gear and the fancy tech begs to differ. 

There is more to the Muntjac than meets the eye, but with everything else going on, the topic of what makes this ship so special will have to wait.

Eliot finds her in the chart room a while later and tells her they’ve got three more hours until their pit-stop at Dead Man’s Peak. At her look of horror, he smirks and tells her Josh is asking for her at his greenhouse.

“You can’t be serious,” Fen says.

“Oh, but I am.” Eliot saunters past her. “You may want to take off your jacket. Hoberman keeps it warm like a sauna.”

She obliges and leaves the jacket draped over the back of a chair. 

Eliot directs Fen through a door at the back of the chart room that Fen has assumed was for storage. The greenhouse is set up as Fen expects, hot like a sauna. Steaming rolls in from the overhead vents and the grates below. Instead of glass walls, the room is made of wood like the rest of the Muntjac. A skylight provides the sun that plants need to thrive, and glass incubators contain the most delicate flowers.

Here, in the center of strange plants, Josh Hoberman is in his element, standing by a tomato vine and watching it grow. The sound of Fen and Eliot’s footsteps go ignored. As he works, he’s humming a shanty, a traditionally Filmorian melody that he must’ve picked up from the traveling merchants at Wishmaster Square.

The last time he was at the square, selling knives and learning shanties, was three years ago.

“You have a visitor!” Eliot announces.

“Oh!” Josh turns around and waves. Dirt falls off from his gardening gloves at the motion. “Fen! Hi. I was going to look for you, but I passed by the greenhouse, and I figured I’d check on my tomatoes, and—you wanna join me?”

Fen nods, then turns back and says a quick thank-you to Eliot, who is already backing out of the greenhouse. Eliot stops to wave at a sunflower which has turned its head to him, then at some bluebells hanging overhead who bob in response. Though Eliot looks out-of-place among plants, his respect for them is strangely wholesome, more so as it is reciprocated.

“I’m going to find Margo,” Eliot excuses himself before heading out. 

Josh moves aside to give Fen space at the tomato vines. She gives him a smile and resists the temptation to admire a nearby cactus with multicolored flowers. There is no reason to stall, but starting a conversation with Josh in private is harder than Fen expects. Eliot and his boys were a nice buffer. But now?

It’s been months since Fen had last given thought to what she could say if— _when_ —she finally reunites with her friend, and after seeing his wanted poster, she was too busy chasing after him and getting hijacked by the princess. Some part of Fen had lost faith in finding Josh again, knowing how fortified Stormhold could be. The thought of abandoning hope makes Fen feel guilty as she looks at her friend now.

In the end, it’s Josh who breaks the silence. “You came.”

“Jules couldn’t make it,” Fen says. “She really, really wanted to, she was on the hovercraft with me, but the wards—”

“I know. I—thank you.” Josh clears his throat and breaks out the Hoberman grin. Seeing the grin, of all things, makes Fen emotional. Here’s the dork that she remembers. “If I _were_ on the run, I mean, you would’ve been, like, my actual hero.”

Josh shows her a corner table that she has overlooked at first, made of a wood that almost matches the wooden walls of the greenhouse, but not exactly. The table has two seats beside a small electric stove with an oven underneath and a shelf overhead. There is a barrier around the corner that controls the air temperature, a wall of basic runes in a web that reveals itself momentarily when Fen steps across it. She sighs in content, grateful to escape the humidity.

“You _are_ on the run,” Fen points out. “You’re, what, a sky pirate? Since when? And—” despite the grin on her face that matches his, endless questions tumble out of Fen—“you could’ve told me. Told us. Left a message, or a—a secret code? Or—I don’t know. You could’ve asked Asmodeus.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Gods, no, sorry. _I’m_ sorry. I sound like I’m mad at you? I’m not. I’m—ok, I _am_ mad, _maybe_ , ‘cause Jules and I didn’t know if you were alive or dead or—or we didn’t know where they’d taken you, and now you’re—”

Fen gestures to all of him before she slumps in her seat and crosses her arms with a huff. 

“Now I’m a sky pirate!” To her horror, Josh unleashes a hearty laugh. He fills a kettle and lights it on the stove, and finds two mugs that he sets at their table. “We’re not actually pirates, Fen, we’re traders, but what the hell, I like the sound of this. _Sky pirates_.”

“It’s good to see you,” Fen says, embarrassed about her outburst.

Josh’s upbeat mannerism doesn’t falter, a sign that all is forgiven. 

“I know Harriet’s been shielding the whole village with her pro-illusions. I wanted to tell you where I was after I left Blackspire two years ago with the guys, but we didn’t want to make you a bigger target. We didn’t even reach out to the Wolfs ‘till a few weeks ago. You know. ‘Cause the less you knew…” Josh trails off and strokes the rim of his mug. “I’m sorry. Really. I know I should’ve insisted—”

“I get it.” Fen shakes her head and places a hand over his. “But we need to tell Jules.”

“Kady’s already on it. Eliot sent her a ping earlier.”

“Kady?”

“Oh, Asmodeus,” he clarifies.

“ _Kady_ ,” Fen muses. All she’d ever known until yesterday was her code name. With her reputation as a formidable terramancer, Asmodeus is a celebrity among Wolfs of all kingdoms.

“I know, right?”

They are interrupted by the kettle’s beeping sound. Josh turns off the kettle’s switch and scoops out tea leaves from a mason jar on the shelf, and soon, two steaming mugs of tea sit in front of them, not burning-hot but appropriately warm as far as Fen can gauge. Nothing is labeled, but the brews are likely foreign, unrecognizable to her anyway.

“Asmodeus is a nice code name. I thought she’d be older, like, a really seasoned hacker, or something. But she’s just a girl—your age, I think, a year younger than me,” Josh continues, “not some middle-aged hacker dude like I thought. We met a few months after our getaway. It was like meeting a celebrity.”

He is interrupted by another beeping sound, which turns out to be the stove. Inside is a tin of six muffins that makes Fen hungry again, even though lunch was delicious, and only happened an hour ago. There is a bigger oven in the lounge with a proper kitchen, but Josh will be Josh, even on a flying ship. 

“What’s she like?” Fen accepts a muffin.

“Oh, she’s nice once you get to know her. But she’s not exactly warm and cuddly, y’know? At first I thought she hated me.” Josh lowers his voice and adds, “Kind of like _Her Highness_.”

Fen is sipping her tea when he mentions Margo, and she breaks into a coughing fit. She sets down the mug, swallows, and takes a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

The truth is, Josh’s mention of the princess reminds Fen that she doesn’t know how in Hades’ name he had come to be on this airship. Josh notices Fen pondering, and she peels off the paper at the base of her muffin to buy herself time, then takes a bite. It’s lemon and blueberry, one of his classics. She relishes in the burst of flavors and wishes she’s having this conversation at a time of peace, not in the middle of a power vacuum up in the clouds over foreign land. 

“I’ve been alright, honestly,” Josh says, allowing her to continue to gobble away at her food. “All things considered, I was lucky—no, don’t give me that look—”

Fen swallows and relaxes the frown on her face, but glowers at Josh for good measure.

“—I was only at Blackspire, for like, a year and a half? Two years? I wasn’t the only captive. Everett’s been delivering magicians to the King for years. That’s where I met Eliot, and Quentin, and the other guys. Quentin, I recognized right away, ‘cause of Jules.”

“That’s where you went? The Castle?” Fen asks, glad that somehow Josh is answering the question she hasn’t voiced out loud.

“Yeah. Irene didn’t care for my plant magic, so she didn’t make me a soldier. I was your regular kitchen boy. Quentin worked as a squire, no fighting stamina. You know us. But Eliot and the rest—well, that, you already know.”

“And then you left. What was that about?”

Josh finishes his tea, fully aware he is doing a dramatic pause to Fen’s dismay. Fen glares, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Margo told us to go. We went on another mission, except the intel was a setup. Kady helped. Quentin and I were with the crew, specifically requested since we’re all running together. And the Wolfs set up some mad chaos, and we took the ship, and we took off. Left her behind like she asked us to.”

“You deserted?” Fen asks. “But none of you were fugitives until now.”

Fen keeps the other question to herself. She remembers watching the Junior Centurion Guards on the news, but one day, two years ago, the broadcasts just stopped. No one batted an eye since the force was led by the princess, and with increasing duties now that she’s an adult, people assumed the group disbanded. But this whole time, they are free, and traveling the world. Margo had let them go. The question is, why?

“We’re not sure why, either,” Josh admits. “But none of us were from Stormhold. There weren’t any pissed-off families looking for answers or protesting at Blackspire. A lot of us were turned in by families back home. Some were captured, such as myself. Maybe we were expendable. Not that it’s hurting our feelings—okay, it hurts a little, but we’d rather not be fugitives, so I mean. Can’t complain?”

“All of the guys were… like you?”

“Right.” Josh’s gaze drops to his own muffin, and he stabs it with a fork. “Eliot was one of the first. Everett took him to Blackspire when he was a kid. I’m not going to spill his life’s history, but he’s open to talking about it if you want to ask.”

Fen shakes her head. From looking at Eliot, she’d never have imagined his childhood being the way it was. And she remembers the smile on Eliot’s face when he saw Margo below deck, and their banter while Eliot pulled Fen up and apologized for the scare. “I don’t need to pry. But I thought… I didn’t know Margo and her team were friends.”

“Like I said.” Josh starts on his food again. “Margo’s not as scary as she looks. I mean, yes, she’s terrifying, and her ice daggers? You do _not_ want to be on the receiving end of that—but she gives a shit about us. She’s not what I expected.”

“No, she isn’t,” Fen agrees. 

After the entire ordeal of trespassing to Margo’s kingdom, the run-in with Everett, and the crash on the cliffside, and now _this…_ Nothing about Fen’s mission is going according to plan, if there ever was one at the beginning at all. What started out as an urge to make things right may very well pan out into a war. A war in a kingdom that Fen has nothing to do with, but can’t bear the thought of abandoning. Because running away from the kingdom means watching Margo’s duel with Irene from afar. Margo, who sparred with Fen after apologizing to her after robbing her, who asked Fen to drop the “Your Highness” and promised to help Fen find her way home.

They finish their muffins while Fen gives Josh updates on Wall. By that, she means Harriet and her knives, while she teeters on the edge of her relationship with Julia, and the incident eleven months ago that nearly killed her but gave her magic instead. No one checks on them at the greenhouse, and Fen makes a mental note to thank Eliot later for giving them space. 

“Did something happen to Jules?” Josh asks. “Is she okay?”

Fen has expected Josh to catch on eventually, but she bites her bottom lip, reluctant to mention the things that might upset him. “We… We got into a relationship. A few months after Everett caught you, and—sorry. Too soon?”

“It’s been three years. I’ll live. And I’m happy for you. Honestly, I kind of saw it coming.”

“What?”

“Harriet and I had a bet.”

“Are you serious?”

“Who kissed who?”

“Was that the bet?”

“Maybe. Please tell me I’m right.”

“I did.”

“Yes! Called it!”

“But it’s over,” Fen said. Hearing it out loud hurts worse than she expects, like admitting it makes it true. “For good this time.”

“You wanna talk about it? ‘Cause if you want me to talk about brownies, I’ve got some great herbs that the guys and I picked up when we were at Demonrock down in Loria. Potent stuff—a pinch of leaves in a batch, and you’ll think you’re talking to the Gods.”

That does cheer Fen up, as much as it concerns her. But she shakes her head and lets herself confront the truth of her relationship. Times have changed, and she and Julia were no longer compatible. They’ve fallen out of sync. Knowing it doesn’t make the break-up feel any better.

“We’re still friends. And we miss you. We had a picnic the other night, but it felt… off. And all I could think about was what you’d bring to the conversation. The raccoons ransacking the bakery, or something.”

He laughs. “They’re not still bugging my mom and dad, are they?”

Maybe Fen isn’t the only one holding back questions. “If you’re worried about them, Jules and I visit every other day. They’re—they’re not fine, they miss you, but they’re still running the bakery. No health scares, or anything.”

“Thank you. I feel bad, not sending them a message, but I didn’t want the Recs coming after them. Harriet’s got enough shit to worry about, trying to hide everyone.”

Fen nods. “I know. The Recs?”

“Reclamationists. Sounds less scary when you give them a nickname.”

“It does. I should try that sometime.”

“Yeah.” Josh pauses. “I’m sorry about you and Jules. Was there a fight?”

Josh refills their tea, and Fen watches the steam rise and tells him everything. He listens without judging, and when Fen gets to the part about Julia struggling to accept her magic, he gets up to give her a hug. Patting her head, he lets her continue to ramble. Fen doesn’t tell him about how shitty she feels—he must’ve sensed it already, anyway. This mess is about Jules, her having to live with a power she no longer wants, and how the incident broke them and put them on separate paths. Fen could have stopped it somehow. Maybe. She could have at least tried.

“She’s still hard on herself about having the power, huh?” Josh asks after they sit back down.

Fen soothes herself with the tea, draining her mug. The brew is minty with a hint of peach, and another spice she doesn’t recognize, but she’ll ask Josh about it later. “Fogg is helping her control it. We found her discipline a few weeks ago—meta-composition.”

“Is that a knowledge discipline?”

“Yeah.”

“It suits her.”

“She hasn’t accepted it. Told me it wasn’t possible because her powers weren’t born.”

Josh frowns. “It’s possible.”

“Yeah. Margo told me she knows someone like that, too. It just… it hurts me to see her so down on herself. You usually do a better job of cheering people up.”

He chuckles, pleased about the compliment, before he reaches across the table to squeeze her hand. “Sounds like you’re pretty down on yourself, too.”

“Did you have to call me out like that?”

“We’ll figure this out together,” Josh promises. “After Margo kicks ass and takes her crown, she’ll let us go home. And we can bring Quentin with us.”

The prospect of going home with one extra face from Julia’s past sounds too good to be true, but nothing has happened per Fen’s plan, and everything seems to be in motion. “Do you really think we can win?” Fen asks.

“If you can toss yourself into a warded kingdom and find me on a flying ship? I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Josh says. “We got this.”

* * *

Fen spends the rest of the flight to Dead Man’s Peak touring the greenhouse while Josh introduces her to all his plants. They catch up on each other’s lives until the Muntjac lands on a solid surface. Eliot pokes his head in and tells them they’ve arrived at the so-called Dead Man’s Peak he’d mentioned earlier. 

They leave the greenhouse after finishing their tea and walk past the chart room. Before heading out to the deck, Fen retrieves her jacket and puts it back on. But nothing can prepare her for this terrible weather. She walks right into a gust of harsh wind in the midst of the storm. Rain splatters turn to hail, thumping against the wooden deck. In front of her are Margo and Eliot and his crew, all headed for the forecastle at the bow of the Muntjac. 

Dead Man’s Peak is an island halfway between the northern shore of Stormhold and the Neitherlands, right underneath a gray-blue cloud, its diameter wider than their entire ship. To make matters worse, the Muntjac is not docked by the beach, but on top of the highest peak in the middle of the ocean, parked and anchored precariously on an outcrop platform. The height of the outcrops grow incrementally taller as they spiral inward until they reach the center where the Muntjac is standing. The ship wobbles as it holds itself against the wind, ironically less stable than when it was soaring through the sky unsupported. 

Dead Man’s Peak is named as such due to its unique climate, a well-controlled vortex of bad weather amid the cloudless sunshine beaming across the rest of the ocean. It also has no beaches, only exposed bedrocks sprouting from underneath the surface of the sea. Unlike the reddish-brown rocks and sediment inland, these outcrops are various shades of gray like meteorites, their surfaces smoothened by the everstorm and glowing iridescent.

Despite all this, Fen seems to be the only one wishing she could go back into the hull, to stay dry and abstain from potential electrocution. 

The men, already stationed at the forecastle, each hold a silver orb with strange symbols carved around the middle. Eliot had explained it before Fen walked out into the storm: the orbs are not metal, but battery shells of a compound with a runic name that humans have not found a way to translate, ready to hold fragments of energy from the storm. The energy from primal sources in nature can be harnessed by magicians, supplying them independently from the Junctions that distribute ambient power. 

Margo separates herself from everyone and waits for Fen at the steps. Lightning strikes in front of the Muntjac’s bow, too close for comfort. Fen’s hair rises from the static and her eyes water from the brilliant flash of purple. Her shout of horror is muffled by the loud crackling from the sky. Margo speaks, and Fen reads her lips. _It’s okay._

Fen doesn’t know if it’s Margo’s words or the eyebrow Margo raises in challenge that convinces her to walk closer to where the lightning had struck.

Eliot steps aside to make space for them at the bow. Unlike Margo’s teasing, the look Eliot gives Fen is sympathetic. “The Muntjac has her own wards to keep us from getting fried. You’re safe,” he says. Fen hears him now that the lightning has drawn back. “The battery shells draw the energy in. You’re safe.”

A deep rumble alerts the next strike, and Fen looks up to see the bottom of the storm cloud glowing above where she stands. 

“Give it a try,” Margo says beside her. “I dare you.”

Before Fen can think of a retort, Margo hands Fen the orb and takes a step back. Fen is grasping the orb tightly in both hands when the lightning emerges, her arms outstretched to put as much distance as she could between her body and the orb. Margo peers her head past Fen’s shoulder and watches her with a devious grin. A grin that Fen acknowledges with a wince when the bolt of lightning forks into six branches, one of which drills into the surface of her battery shell. 

The bolt of lightning makes contact with Fen’s orb and breaks into fizzles. Fen feels the energy seeping into the shell of the battery. A small stream of it travels down her limbs, where it runs through her veins. When the sensation stops and the battery grows warm, Fen feels Margo’s hands caressing hers, their fingers laced to secure the orb. 

Fen turns and catches the last of the purple bolts reflected in Margo’s eyes. She flushes when she recalls their spar this morning, how Margo had claimed her victory with a smile so close Fen could almost taste it. 

“Incredible,” Fen says. Whether she means the lightning or its reflection, she doesn’t dwell.

Thunder echoes in the distance, each one further away than the last. The ice-pellets of rain turn back to water droplets. As the storm retreats, so do the men, but Fen and Margo stay behind. Eliot is the last to leave. He takes Fen’s orb along with his own, using telekinesis to hold both of them in the air above his open palm and spin them in a circle.

“Show off,” Margo whispers.

Fen answers with a chuckle and waves goodbye to Eliot. He bows, then walks down the steps, disappearing beneath the steps to place the batteries along others at the storage cellar underneath the forecastle.

“Thank you for sharing your orb,” Fen says, walking toward the steps back to the main deck. 

The Muntjac begins to ascend, growing more stable as it pulls away from the rocky outcrops of Dead Man’s Peak. Fen’s hair is soaked and plastered to her head. Droplets of rainwater slide down the streaks of hair at the nape of her neck, but she is no longer in a hurry to get inside.

“My mom and I used to do this when I was little.” Margo falls into step beside her, her hair a wild jumble of waves that personifies this storm. “I remember my first lightning. I’ll remember yours, too.”

* * *

It takes two more hours after the Muntjac flies out of the everstorm and resets its course before Fen considers herself “warm” again. Stuffed with a hearty dinner of shepherd's pie and hot chocolate, courtesy of Josh, Fen ventures out on deck again, hoping to catch an unfiltered view of the sunset out in the open. 

She finds Eliot leaning against the steering wheel at the helm, taking a drink out of his flask. Eliot has shed his pirate’s cloak for a patterned button-down and leather pants, practical but characteristically dramatic. He salutes Fen when she joins him at his spot, and Fen spends the next twenty minutes learning how to charter territories with an old-school sextant. Their peaceful companionship is cut short when a stranger blips onto the deck with a loud pop. Fen yelps and readies a knife to throw at the man, but Eliot pulls the knife from her hand telekinetically. 

“Easy, hunter,” Eliot says, “Penny’s a friend. Not a squirrel.”

“I’m not your friend, Captain Fancy,” Penny insists. 

Fen raises an eyebrow as she walks up a step and surveys the grouchy stranger called Penny, a tall, dark-haired man in black slacks and a purple vest. Penny stands barefoot in the middle of the view lounge where Fen and Eliot and a handful of his crew are currently working away at various tablets, communicating with members of the Free Trader Beowulf to prepare for their arrival in the Neitherlands. 

“Gods, I’m so, so sorry!” Fen exclaims. “You’re a Traveler. I’m—sorry.”

Penny rolls his eyes at Fen but doesn’t say anything to deny her claim. “You got the batteries?” he asks Eliot.

Eliot inclines his head, a silent request to ask Fen to follow. They descend from the helm and stop at the deckhead before the forecastle where there is a double-door. Eliot had stashed the batteries there after they recharged the orbs. 

“Fresh from the everstorm this morning.” Eliot raises his arms as well as his voice

He turns and saunters to the double doors and places his palm on a random space on the bulkhead where a light behind the wood glows green through the gaps. The doors slide open without needing to be pulled, revealing the silver spheres.

Penny peers past Eliot. “I’ll take half a dozen again?”

“Mhmm.” Eliot blocks Penny’s way before he can enter the storage room. “You want some coffee before you go? Scones? Josh made scones. They’re to die for.”

“No.”

Eliot steps aside to let Penny pass. “Suit yourself.” 

Penny stuffs the silver spheres in his backpack where they disappear in the magically-extended space and leaves six batteries on the shelf. Eliot beckons him over when he’s done and gestures to the chart room, where Josh is waving from the inside with a brown paper bag. Josh opens the door, and Eliot levitates the bag from Josh and directs it Penny’s way.

“I said I don’t—”

“Compensation for almost dying on the job. Please, I insist,” Eliot cuts Penny off, and though Penny’s glare doesn’t waver, he accepts the peace offering, catching the bag with one hand. “Fen’s new. Picked her up yesterday. We’re working on the knife thing.”

“Great.”

“I’m really sorry,” Fen offers again. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Fuck off.”

Right before Penny travels himself away, Eliot calls out, “Tell Lovelady we said hi!”

“Nice guy,” Fen says after Penny disappears. 

“Don’t mind Penny.” Eliot gives her a meaningful look before he walks back to the mainmast and sits with his back against the sturdy pole. “He loves us. That was code for ‘apology accepted’.” 

“Do you do this a lot?” Fen asks, sitting beside him.

“Trade with Penny?” Eliot shrugs. “He comes once a week and never stays for dinner. We try to feed him something, though—Sheila’s got plenty of food, but he’s a growing boy.”

“Penny works for Sheila Cozener?”

The identity of the two founders of the Wolfs is common knowledge, one Fen acquired as part of her initiation when she was fourteen. Though Harriet herself is the daughter of one, being a whole kingdom away from the headquarters makes Zelda and Sheila sound more like myths than real people to Fen. 

“Sheila snatched him up in Filmore before the Recs could get to him. Some at his foster home reported him after she caught him Traveling. He’s been with Sheila ever since; helps out with her pawnshop, too, not that she made him work for rent or anything. She says he’s family, but he’d die before he admits he’s pleased about it.”

“I’m glad Sheila found him.”

Their conversation fades to a natural silence when the ship sails into the colors of dusk. Fen prepares to squint with the hues from the sunlight so close, but the colors of the sky mute themselves in Fen’s presence. 

“The Muntjac protects her crew with her own wards.” Eliot notices Fen’s awe. He hands back the knife he snatched from her earlier and gives her a pat on the shoulder. “You’re one of us now.”

“Just like that?”

“Margo likes you, and she’s not the warm and cuddly type.”

The assessment is appropriate for the princess Fen has come to know. She chuckles. “How long have you been friends?”

“Too long,” Eliot says. “Penny was one of the lucky ones. Sheila adopted him right after she found him. Most of us magician kids end up captured by one of Everett’s bounty-hunters. They call us ‘tributes’ and send us to Blackspire. Everett had a deal with the king. He and his cronies get to dick around other kingdoms with their magic and leave Stormhold’s Junctions alone. He steals ambient energy from other kingdoms, since they’re not using them much. You learned this in Wolfs-orientation, too, right? You know what Junctions do?”

“I did, yeah,” Fen says. “Water from the Wellspring flows from the source through pipes. Junctions are like taps all around the land. They’re supposed to be hard to find, but some people find them anyway. Too easy to exploit. Major problem.”

“Good memory.”

“I try.” Fen considers her next words carefully, remembering what started this digression, “You’ve been in Blackspire since you were a kid?”

Eliot leans back against the main post. “Yup. I was nine when his cronies took me. This boy, Logan, used to bully me at school. One day I was walking home, and I saw this car—one of those automatic ones that hold cargo, with no driver inside. I thought about running Logan over with one of those. I didn’t mean it, but it happened. He died. I learned I was a telekinetic. I don’t know who saw me, but whoever it was ratted me out. A few days later, pops asked me to come into town with him, and he handed me off to a caravan. That was the last time I saw him.”

“That must’ve been horrible.”

“I look out the window the whole way,” Eliot continues. His face is expressionless like he has recounted this story too many times to care, making it so much worse. “No one wanted to come near the tow car. No one wanted to start shit with magicians. When I got to Blackspire, Everett presented me in front of the King and his council. Most of the other kids ended up as squires or maids. Irene found another use for me—she’s a telekinetic, too. She knows what shit we’re capable of.”

Fen scoffs. Eliot might be desensitized, but she’s got plenty of empathic rage to spare. “She made you a soldier.”

“Mayakovsky convinced the King to let him teach us before we got official Army duties with the grown-ups. He said we didn’t know shit. He was right, of course. That’s where I met Margo.”

“What was she like?”

“She was...” Eliot looks at the clouds passing them by and closes his eyes. “Terrifying. I knew her the same way you did, from watching her on the news. All I knew was how her father acted as the king. I didn’t expect anything different from her.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Our first duel.”

Fen raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you won?”

“Fuck, I wish.” He shakes his head. “She beat me in three minutes. That shit was humiliating.”

“And, what, it gave you resolve? Made you a better fighter?”

“At nine years old? Nah. It made me jealous. She walked away from the ring; it was already over, I’d lost. And I was pissed when some of the other kids started laughing. I hated Blackspire. Hated everything about the clusterfuck that was my life. So I thought, hey, nothing to lose, right? And I attacked her when her back was turned.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Not my proudest moment,” Eliot admits. “Mayakovsky benched me for the rest of the lesson. _You do not attack unprovoked,_ ” he mimics in his teacher’s voice. “ _You accept defeat like man. Not throw petty tantrum!”_

Fen tuts her tongue, teasing the manners of nine-year-old Eliot, and lets him continue.

“I spent the whole week after that lesson scared shitless, thinking the king was going to send Irene or someone to throw me in a cellar with the prisoners under the castle. Nothing happened. Margo joined us for more lessons, but she went out of her way to ignore me. A few weeks of this, and I started feeling like a cock. I chased her into the courtyard after training one day. I told her I was sorry, and she turned around with her hand held up, and I got jumpy. I flinched.

“I still remember Margo backing away. All she wanted to do was offer to shake my hand. She didn’t know I’d take it that way, but I did, but she didn’t give me shit for being skittish. That’s what changed my mind. She saw I was scared, and she stopped. Tyrants wouldn’t have cared.”

Fen listens, reminded of how Margo had softened last night when they were yelling at each other by the cliffside. The sight of Fen’s distress had made Margo bite back the string of curses on the tip of her tongue. Though Fen had been too pissed at that moment to acknowledge it, after today, she sees it in a different light. “I guess she was asking for a chance.”

“Guess so,” Eliot agrees. “I’m glad I didn’t cock out. Ironically, being stuck at Blackspire was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“From what I learned, growing up,” Fen says, “we can choose to be better than the ones who raised us. But it helps to surround ourselves with good people. I had my friends. Margo was lucky to have you.”

Eliot tilts his chin in a look of theatrical smugness. “She was. The Junior Centurion Guards needed an Eliot.”

“Did you two start yourselves? To beat up some bad guys?”

“I wish,” Eliot quips. “Weirdly, it was Irene’s idea. Yeah, I know.”

“Why?”

“Something about this kingdom’s leaders showing strength, blah blah, she proposed it to the council and the king approved it. It was all propaganda. But between Margo and I, we had a theory that McAllister was trying to get us killed. Deserters are dangerous shit if you fight someone from the inner circle.”

“I can’t believe they put teenagers up to this.”

Eliot shrugs. “A lot of Stormhold’s bullshit is unbelievable. But Margo and I watched each other’s backs. Magic-envy is long dead by the time we’re teenagers. We were a team.”

“You trust her,” Fen observes. Then she dares herself to pry a little further. “I think Margo is nicer than she lets on.”

He raises an eyebrow, approving her courage. “She is. Do not tell her I said that.”

“Alright, Captain,” Fen says. “And hey, thanks for the chat.”

“Anytime. Now, dinner awaits.” Eliot pulls himself up, then offers a hand to help Fen. “It’s been a while since Margo had a lady friend. You’re a good influence on her.”

Fen follows him back into the chart room and closes the door. “Lady friend?”

“Margo’s got a soft spot for women.” Eliot stops before the stairs and adds with a wink, “But you didn’t hear it from me.”


	8. Queens of the Neitherlands

_At the base of the mountain, Kady stomped the ground and breathed in, underwhelmed by the small tingles of energy she felt. Stormhold was proving to be a pain-in-the-ass due to its stifling limitations over her terramancy. This place had enough ambient energy for a terramancer to dig a deep fucking tunnel, though, which was more than she could say for the other kingdoms._

_Growing up in the Neitherlands had spoiled Kady. Three months after she docked her ship at Shark Bay and found a new home at the Crater, she still had trouble with restraint. But this was her first solo mission as a Wolf, and she was not about to fuck it up by whining._

_She made her way underground, peeling aside rocks in the dark until she broke a hole in the outer wall of the Deserter base. Once in the passageway, she shifted the earth back into place and walked forward until she saw the entrance. A Deserter was standing guard beside it. It wasn’t much work to shackle the guard to the wall with cuffs made of rocks._

_The commotion inside suggested the Junior Centurion Guards had already begun the raid, so the Wolfs’ intel was good. Kady entered with the keycard she’d pulled from the guard’s pocket and walked right into the middle of the fray. Princess Margo was swinging an axe over a Deserter, only instead of hacking his body in half, she’d frozen him to a pillar and hacked open the door of a nearby cell._

_Inside was a preteen girl with auburn hair, a Shade that the Couple had kept for more than a decade. Princess Margo noticed Kady and stepped protectively in front of little Marina. Kady responded by flashing her stolen keycard, then tripping the leg of a Deserter who came over to help his frozen friend._

_“The Couple’s on their way down,” Kady said, then doubled-down on the guy she’d thrown down to knock him out. “Elevator’s compromised. I can get you all out.”_

_“Who the fuck are you?”_

_With a smirk, Kady snapped her fingers, and the doors of all cells popped open, freeing every Shade confined in this place_ — _impeccable timing as always from the hackers back at the Crater. Usually, the Junior Centurion handled their own missions just fine, but most Deserter bases were a scattered mess of outlaws, not an organized hideout for their most treasured possessions. Confused faces of children peered out the open doors following Kady’s theatric stunt. Margo ignored Kady for the moment to usher the kids out._

_As the rest of the Junior Centurion rounded the corners, Kady raised her hands in surrender and said, “I’m here to help. Zelda sent me.”_

_Margo exchanged looks with a curly-haired boy who stood close to her at the mention of their mutual friend. A chime from the elevator at the far end of the bunker interrupted their silent conversation, and Margo cursed under her breath and let Kady lead the way out from where she’d come in. Ten minutes of tunneling later, they emerged behind the cover of foliage, all thirty-something of them now that they were tailed by two dozen Shades._

_Kady’s hoverboard was lying at the base of the mountain, ready to take her back to the Crater. She caught the eye of Marina’s Shade, the auburn-haired girl, and beckoned her over. “I’m taking this one,” Kady said. “Marina’s expecting her at HQ.”_

_She hoisted the Shade up on piggyback and stepped up to the hoverboard. It took more effort to balance both of them on the surface, but Kady liked a challenge. Margo tapped her on the arm before she could take off. “Explain,” she demanded._

_“I will. I promise. Here.” Kady removed the extra communication wristband around her arm and handed it to her. “Keep this safe, and keep it charged—it works with any wireless pad you got. I’ll be in touch.”_

_The curly-haired boy who always hovered around Margo had disappeared to find their escaped vehicle, a flying-something he called the Muntjac. Margo frowned at the wristband in her hand, then up at Kady, her expression wavering between intrigued and suspicious. “Give me a name,” she demanded._

_“Call me Asmodeus.” Kady stepped onto her hoverboard, then added one last enticing piece of intel to make sure the princess gives her a chance. “I know where Queen Mira is.”_

* * *

Margo sits in the engine room and leans against the trunk. The heart of the Muntjac glows within it, a red core of light entangled in vine-like branches growing from the bottom of the floor through the ceiling. 

The Muntjac is a sentient vessel who understands her riders’ intention and relies on her own judgment to steer, so the engine room is a misnomer. Her vitality remains a secret to most, but ever since Margo has taken ownership of the ship with her Junior Centurion Guards at thirteen years old, the ship has opened its heart—literally— to accept more human companionship. Now that Margo and her friends are close to their destination, the heart pulses in a careful rhythm like the ship is awaiting the hidden world with bated breaths. 

“It’s okay,” Margo whispers, trying to convince both the Muntjac and herself. The heart blinks twice with her glow to show Margo she’s listening. 

“Am I interrupting?” a voice says from above. “Sorry. I can come back.”

Margo looks up. Fen is leaning against the mezzanine rails, eyes wide and hand hovering before the trunk that holds Muntjac’s heart. 

The engine room is easily the largest room below deck. It’s the only room that needs no remodeling over the years and maintains the original structure from when the Gods first built this ship. The room rises two stories high to accommodate the tall trunk that holds the heart, stories separated in part by the mezzanine leading to the sleeping quarters of the upper hull—which is where Fen is standing now, gazing at the glowing red core in wonder.

“Stay,” Margo says. It comes out harsher than she intends, like an order, but Fen doesn’t flinch. “Please”, she adds.

“Josh told me this ship is sentient,” Fen says. “I thought I’d come and say hello, or… thank you? Is that silly?”

“I think she’d appreciate that.”

Margo lays a gentle hand over the trunk to feel the warmth coursing through the vines, and turns away from Fen to hide the smile curling up her lips. Of all the people who had heard about the Muntjac’s sentience, Fen is the first to offer her acquaintance and gratitude before she pesters Margo with questions about how this ship is made. A few hours ago, Eliot had descended from the main deck after a conversation with Fen, sporting the biggest shit-eating grin, then pulled Margo into the privacy of his room. Eliot had voiced his approval of Fen as a potential romantic partner, and Margo had punched him in the shoulder.

Now the woman in question is here greeting a ship, and Margo’s shoulders sink in defeat. Fen is adorable, like Margo has feared, and Eliot will never shut up about being right.

Fen moves away from the railing and walks down the steps to join Margo below and walks closer. “She?”

“Yes. Muntjac, Fen. Fen, Muntjac.” Margo gestures between Fen and the heart. 

“How do you know her?”

“She was part of the royal fleet. Tick introduced us when I was a girl.” 

Margo pats the floor next to her and invites Fen to sit. Fen joins her without question and leans back slowly, resting her cheek against the trunk. The red glow from the heart color Fen’s cheeks like she’s blushing. “So how did she end up with Eliot?”

There are many parts of Margo’s life broadcasted for public view, but how she came to lose her Centurion Guards isn’t one of them. As far as the world knows, the princess had adjourned her duties as a guardian of the kingdom to learn the administrative side of her duties—an obvious path for a future leader. To testify against this widely accepted story is to shatter the image the press has constructed for Princess Margo over the years.

Margo opens her mouth to offer a heavily-redacted version of the story, but her mind draws a blank. The heart glows a little dimmer as it senses her dread. Before Fen can take back her question and apologize again, Margo blurts out a half-truth. “Eliot robbed me.”

“ _No,_ ” Fen whispers and clutches her heart, pretending to be affronted.

“I robbed _you_ , didn’t I?” Margo humors her. “It’s a Stormhold tradition.”

“I don’t believe you.” The red glow of the heart illuminates Fen’s frown. “I’m not asking for a confirmation, but Margo—I want you to know I never believed the rumors about you.”

_Why not?_

Margo holds her tongue for once, as afraid of the reason for Fen’s doubts as she is curious. 

It’s no secret that the press hates Margo’s guts. The news thrives on conflicts, and Stormhold is full of it, oftentimes thanks to the princess herself. Margo had never mastered the art of diplomacy, and journalists latched onto her rage like leeches. This exact temper forced Margo’s hand into engagement with Prince Micah of the Floating-Mountain when she was sixteen. She had to make peace when her excursion ended in her attacking Lieutenant Pumice in his kingdom’s waters. Micah’s untimely demise had saved her from the hell that is marriage, but did nothing to fix her reputation as an angry bitch.

“I appreciate that,” Margo says. It’s the truth, but not one she usually gives. Fen’s surprise mirrors her own. “What did you hear about me?”

“A lot of things…” Fen trails off, “I remember one about the Deserters two years ago. I heard you killed George, part of the Couple.”

The thrum of the Muntjac’s heart grows still. 

“What would you think of me if it’s true?”

Though the media had hailed Margo as a hero after the deed was done, the successful strike had not swayed the public’s opinion of the princess. Because the fact remains that Deserters are much of a threat to the crown as they are to Stormhold’s citizens. The people of Stormhold had lived their whole lives hearing about kidnapping and assassination attempts by the anarchist group. They weren’t about to worship Margo as some benevolent savior, only a royal brat with enough privilege to save her own skin.

“I’ve killed,” Fen says after a moment.

“Yes, but you were hunting.” Margo shakes her head. “That’s different. You weren’t doing it for sport. It was your livelihood.”

“Was your reason any different from mine?”

Fen watches Margo without blinking, daring Margo to interrupt and tell her she’s wrong. All Margo can do is stare back at her. The engine room is silent, and Margo swallows, carefully weighing her next words. “I did it for Eliot. George was going to kill him.”

“Eliot spoke with me.” Fen’s expression turns mischievous. She reaches for Margo’s forearm, and Margo is rooted to the spot when Fen’s rough hand settles on her skin. “He told me you’re slightly nicer than the rumors say.”

Margo returns the smile without intending to. It’s already too late—Fen has made up her mind about Margo having a heart, and whatever Margo says in her defense will only confirm what Fen makes of her. “What you knew about me isn’t wrong. The things I did as a princess are part of me, too.”

“Eliot knows all of that, and accepts you anyway.” Fen runs her thumb along the skin on Margo’s arm, grazing her with her callused fingertip. “I can do the same.”

* * *

As the Muntjac descends its course to fly beneath the clouds, boulders of jagged black rocks rise from the seabed up ahead. Like barbed wire fences, these rocks surround the Neitherlands and discourage intruders from venturing in. They have sprung up of their own accord following the Wellspring’s creation, enchanted by the energy from the magic water to protect the source of all human magic. To the sailors searching for the Neitherlands, who have broken past the illusions set upon the sea to lead them astray, the jagged rocks will rise in height to form a physical barricade, high enough to block flying vessels as well as ships. But the Muntjac sails past from the sky without meeting resistance. 

Past the barricade is a dome of lightning bolts that protects the island from overhead. Instead of shattering the Muntjac into splinters, the lightning retreats onto itself and opens up a hole upon contact with the ship. The lightning bolts resemble the ones Margo has captured with Fen earlier, only they rise from the ground. Here Queen Samira’s magic amplifies to an incredible degree. Whatever doubts Margo has had about finding her mother here vanishes once she feels the familiar touch of static that makes the hair on her skin prickle.

The Neitherlands, an archipelago shielded by the lightning-dome, is a series of islands arranged in a clockwise spiral that grows in toward a center point. The islands around the spiral’s outer ring are built like hills from the same black rocks, and they are higher in altitude with very little gaps between the adjacent boulders to allow water to pass through. As the sun hits, the rocks glimmer in silver ripples across the surface, blending in with the waves. 

The Muntjac lowers herself beside the peak of an outer boulder and unfolds her plank. Margo takes in the view of the Neitherlands once she descends from the ship. There are windows across the leeward side of the outer boulders where public facilities lie in caverns deep within the rocks. On each island that forms the middle and inner rings of the spiral, rectangular structures of metal and concrete rise from the folds of the rough terrain to construct houses. The beaches on the islands are entirely composed of stones, and there is minimal greenery. 

Everything is out on display but left alone. Contrary to Stormhold, where every building is warded by invisible runes, and every large city is surveilled by the Royal Army, the Neitherlands exemplifies a sense of freedom. But Margo doesn’t envy the inhabitants here because none of them has chosen to come. They have found it after being exiled from their home kingdoms, and the ships that wash up here are the lucky ones, towed by the Wellspring water that runs in currents on the ocean floor.

The air, filled with ambient energy, hits Margo in sharp fizzles. Margo inhales slowly and curls her fingers, pulling the warmth from the air around her to create frost. Her cryomancy has never been difficult to summon, but back home, it is driven by her conscience, dormant unless she desires it to appear by choice or by impulse. Here the magic flows through Margo as easy as blood. She is a conduit, embodying the power she projects.

The Neitherlands has been Kady’s home before she packed up her life at fourteen and sailed to Shark Bay to join the Wolfs. As a terramancer who controls the earth, Kady may have been responsible for digging some of the caves in the outer boulders. No wonder Kady has trouble holding back her power—growing up here has made her dauntless, and the limited ambient back in Stormhold must have stifled her in comparison.

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Kady says.

Surprised, Margo turns around and finds Eliot holding up a tablet with the volume turned up. Kady appears on the screen, waving at Margo and her travel companions. 

“Fuck,” Eliot says nearby, expressing Margo’s sentiments precisely. “The air smells like magic. How’s the real estate? Q and I should get ourselves a cabin.”

“It gets old, trust me.” Kady shrugs. “I sent instructions on where to find everything. It’s easy to get lost around here—the Wellspring disorients newcomers until it decides to trust you.”

Josh whistles. “Harsh.”

After one last warning that the land here is slippery, Kady hangs up the video call.

* * *

Fen and Josh head for the infirmary to find Quentin, and the rest of Eliot’s crew begin their trek down on the scenic route to find the guest cabins. Per Zelda’s request, Margo’s agenda on the Neitherlands is business-first, so she searches for Eliot, hoping for some company on her way to meet the so-called Architect.

“Need a lift?” Eliot asks, levitating off the ground as he sneaks up behind her.

Rolling her eyes, Margo wraps her arms around him and rests her chin on his shoulder. He picks her up and hovers them in a clockwise direction, scouring the outer ring of boulders surrounding the interior islands. The air gets cold the higher they ascend, but Margo doesn’t whine about it. She keeps her eyes open and searches for some form of entrance. He wraps his long trench coat around them both when he feels her shudder.

The Architect’s lab lies within one of the outer boulders, dug deep into its foundation, and tunneling out of the leeward side. None of the boulders are named—the inhabitants feel no need to distinguish between them—but Margo recognizes the lab’s entrance when she sees it, per the instructions Kady had sent. There is a round, metal lid with a turning wheel on top, similar to a hatch on a submarine, right on the apex of a boulder. Over the side of the boulder are large awning windows that open outward at an angle, designed to keep the interior dry in case it rains.

Eliot lands them over the top, and Margo opens the hatch to reveal a wide tube lined with concrete that could fit two people. There is a ladder down the side, the metal newly polished. It descends fuck knows how many stories down into a pit of darkness.

“Dark, dingy space?” Eliot peers down the tube. “Classic Mayakovsky.”

Margo makes a face and begins her descent. Eliot follows and closes the hatch once his head is beneath the surface of the opening. The note hasn’t explicitly requested Margo to come alone, so Eliot has offered to keep her company, but she leads the way. Lights click on once they reach the bottom, illuminating a spartan, circular space with replicas of blueprints lining the walls. There is only one door in the center, which is left ajar.

A strong whiff of liqueur greets them when they walk into the lab, followed by a loud bang from a bubbling pot on the stove. Mischa Mayakovsky sits at a reading nook by the awning windows, nursing a bottle of some unrecognizable booze and completely ignoring the explosion. He is reading a book of runes with an illustration of a dome-shaped ward on the cover. The door closes of its own accord after Margo and Eliot let themselves in.

The lab is divided into four sections, each with a specific subject of investigation. One section is full of pots and pans, built like a kitchen counter with electric stoves and a wall-mounted range hood to fan out the smell of whatever concoctions are currently brewing. All the books live by the window, placed on shelves that go all the way to the top of the high ceiling. There is also a section with telescreens and computer monitors, separated from the rest of the room by transparent walls. 

By the fourth section, Margo finds a woman circling a workstation full of miniature buildings and landscapes, all holograms. However, the level of pixelation makes them practically tangible. She is blonde and stern-faced, her business attire a clear contrast to the chunky sweater and loose pants that Mayakovsky is wearing. She frowns in contemplation, calculating something in her head. This must be the Architect in question.

“Did not ask pretty boy to come,” Mayakovsky gestures to Margo and Eliot, announcing their entrance. 

The old nickname makes Eliot beam. “Mischa!” he waltzes over to the reading nook with a shit-eating grin. “You haven’t changed a bit! Pleased to see me?”

Mayakovsky scoffs, not pleased to be referred to as such, and puts down his book. “Was not prepared to let you in. You and flying ship. But, desperate times.”

“You didn’t meet when you dropped off Q?” Margo asks.

“Some guys flew out in a hovercraft to take him from us,” Eliot says. “We didn’t get to see this place. Nice lab.”

Mayakovsky’s expression remains unamused. “You bring good scotch?”

“We’ve got plenty on board. I can get you some before we leave.” Eliot steps aside to examine the simmering liqueur in pots, each a different color and thickened like syrup. “Home-brewing not working out for you?”

“Calypso’s brews. Not my taste.” Mayakovsky gestures to the Architect. “Oy! We have guest!”

“Oh!” the Architect snaps out of her reverie. “Hi. Sorry, I was trying to figure out—never mind, have a seat. Here.”

The Architect, or Calypso, pulls out the stools tucked underneath the kitchen counter. Margo and Eliot sit and watch Calypso collect her brews from the stoves, tracing a myriad of runes in the air too quickly for them to decipher. The liqueurs end up in different glass vials with no labels, and with another runic formula cast over the sink, the pots begin washing themselves with a levitating sponge.

Calypso’s name sounds familiar. Margo might have heard it once during Rafe’s lecture, a brief mention while he recounted their world’s history during the Age of the Gods. It’s not the name that reveals the Architect’s identity to Margo, but the way she uses runes, casting each formula on instinct. “You’re a nymph,” Margo says. “I thought you all left this world.”

“Well observed.” Calypso picks up a remote lying beside the architecture models, then joins them at the kitchen counter. “History thinks I died of heartbreak. Not the first inaccuracy I’ve witnessed. It’s hard to die when you’re immortal, but Prometheus seemed to have found a way.”

“Wait,” Eliot says, “you were that nymph who fell in love with Prometheus?”

“Yes,” Calypso says, confirming what he remembers. 

Eliot had taken an interest in the topics Rafe used to teach Margo during private lessons. When he was stationed to guard Margo’s door at night as a teenage boy, Margo spent countless hours answering his questions. He had a hard time reading books, but he is brilliant when it comes to conversations, though he only reserves that side for Margo.

“How long have you been out here?” Margo asks.

“Ever since the energy from Prometheus’ death pooled into the Wellspring. I located it in the middle of the ocean—it was hiding from the humans, drawing up illusion magic with its own energy. As a nymph, I was able to find it by seeing past its illusions.”

“Right. Okay.” Eliot frowns. “Can we backtrack? Like, all the way?”

“Start from beginning,” Mayakovsky agrees. He closes the windows to give them a quieter space to talk, and continues to eavesdrop as he flips over a page in his rune book. “World creation. Humans getting magic.”

Calypso obliges without protest. She switches the settings on her hologram model with the remote in her hand and turns everything blue, simplifying the details until they look like three-dimensional sketches. Mayakovsky dims the lights around the lab, so Margo and Eliot can focus on the glowing representation, which now floats in the air. 

Though the nymphs are known for their architectural and mathematical ingenuity, their attention to detail makes them great storytellers in the right circumstance. Margo abandons all the knowledge Rafe has crammed into her over the years and pretends she remembers nothing. By her side, Eliot puts an arm around her shoulders, both of them entranced by a version of history told not by humans, but beings who worked closely with the Gods.

“This story of this world,” Calypso says, “begins with Gods. The Gods created worlds and governed them to their own desires. Their worlds are inhabited by their own mortal creations, including humans, who were modeled after the Gods’ own image. The Gods don’t see their creations for their individual value because to them, the worlds are sandboxes. Experiments to understand what it takes to create a strong civilization.”

“So you’re saying the Gods don’t give a shit?” Margo asks. “We’re expendable?”

“Yes,” Calypso says.

“Cocks.”

Mayakovsky guffaws from his corner. Calypso shrugs, acknowledging the point, before she continues the history lesson.

“When the worlds are just beginning,” Calypso continues, “the Gods created helpers to assist in their experiments. Among them are maenads who act as caretakers, and nymphs, like me, who act as architects. The nymphs carry out the ideas that the Gods have planned, and they are responsible for the establishment of villages and towns and cities, even the channels through which oceans divide up the lands. Each world that the Gods built serves a different experimental purpose.”

“So this isn’t the only human world out there?” Eliot asks.

Calypso shakes her head. “Oh, no. Far from it. There are thousands across the galaxies.”

“Is ours the only one going to shit?” Margo asks.

“I’ve lost touch with the other Gods, and the nymphs,” Calypso admits. “But I highly doubt your world is the only one that’s struggling. All worlds have their own catastrophes. Humans will adapt in favorable conditions, but there are worlds in which humans are already extinct—predominantly worlds where humans have no control over the circumstances, no way in which they can manipulate their surroundings to adapt to their needs.”

It gives Margo no comfort to know that shit could have turned out much worse. But she latches onto something else in Calypso’s explanation. Terms that she remembers from Mayakovsky’s lessons. “Controlling the circumstances? As in human magic?”

“Precisely.”

Eliot whistles. “Was that all Prometheus?”

This part, Margo does know. The people of Stormhold praise Prometheus above all the other Gods. They are grateful that he gave humans the ability for magic, though none knew the exact details of his death, only that he had died in sacrifice so the humans may live on. If Prometheus can see how this world is now, he will probably roll over in his nonexistent grave.

“It was. Prometheus traveled among many worlds. Unlike the other Gods, he cared about humans. He wanted them to live.” Calypso’s smile turns wistful. “Eventually, his passion brought him to your world. See, the purpose of this world—your world—is centered around the study of humans. Many Gods insist that creating humans was a mistake. A fluke in the algorithm. But some are intrigued by your potential. This world was made to test how long humans can fend for themselves. 

“The humans in this world were never destined to be magicians. But something happened that made Prometheus defy direct orders from his parents, the Old Gods. An asteroid hit the earth and threatened to destroy everything. Humans in this world would have become extinct, had the Gods simply left you all alone. You could say your world survived by literal miracles.”

“Holy shit,” Eliot says.

Calypso inclines her head in agreement. “To save the humans, Prometheus chose the noblest of you and imbued them with a spark of his own energy, which can be passed down from generation to generation. This was his gift to humanity—a gift that you now refer to as magic. As a failsafe, in case he chose wrong, Prometheus created a Shade with every magical spark he gave. I believe Mayakovsky has taught you about Shades?”

“The tiny beating heart of the soul that allows magicians to process complex emotions and form interpersonal connections,” Eliot recites. 

Mayakovsky grumbles but doesn’t correct him. This articulate explanation had come from Zelda. Mayakovsky’s version was a lot blunter. ( _“Shade allows you to give a fuck about others,” he had told them when they were children. “Not be selfish prick.”_ )

“Yes,” Calypso says, ignoring Mayakovsky’s reaction. “The Shade exists as a moral compass that guides magicians to use their power responsibly. But how exactly the Shade works, or whether its separation from its host always leads to morally irresponsible decisions, is up to debate. You two know as well as I do that human decisions are much more complex than a simple urge to do good or evil,” she addresses Margo and Eliot directly.

They nod. Losing a Shade is a slippery slope, but they know of more than one person who has chosen to do right by others despite a lack of the moral compass that drives them. One of them is in this very place protecting the Wellspring right now, leading the people who made a life here alongside Margo’s mother.

“Prometheus died. You already know that,” Calypso says. “After his death, the other Gods stuck around for three thousand years longer. In these three thousand years, the humans divided themselves into four kingdoms: Filmore, Loria, Brighthaven, and the Floating-Mountain. Gods inspired the rise of technology and answered enough prayers to appease humans from going to war with one another. But the Gods grew tired of having to interfere and distanced themselves, and eventually, they abandoned this world out of boredom.”

“My tutor, Rafe, told me this was what triggered the war against magic—the Gods leaving us alone,” Margo says.

“I would argue that human nature was the ultimate trigger for the war,” Calypso says. “Fear of the unknown. A sense of injustice regarding who receives the gift of magic and who is denied from such opportunities. Among other traits. But in a way, your tutor was right. I believe the Gods’ departure was the catalyst. The war commenced not long after, and—well, I’m sure you know plenty about how your kingdom was founded, so I won’t bore you with the details. Filmore was divided into two halves, in short. The northern half is now the Kingdom of Stormhold. Your kingdom, Margo.”

“That’s up to debate,” Margo mutters. 

Calypso chuckles at her comment but shakes her head. “I will do what I can to help you defeat your challenger. If Stormhold falls into Irene McAllister’s hands, we may all be in danger. Not just your kingdom—it would be devastating beyond the confines of your world.”

“Is that why you called me here?” Margo asks. “To warn me?”

“Your father wanted to find the source of the Wellspring in his day,” Calypso says. “And I know you are well aware that the Order of Reclamation has similar intentions.”

“If you lose, we are fucked,” Mayakovsky adds.

Margo sighs. “No pressure.”

“I called you here so I could explain why exactly Prometheus had lost his immortality,” Calypso brings the conversation back to her. “And why it is important, now more than ever, that you understand why the Wellspring must be protected. Prometheus sacrificed his immortality to distribute his power among humans. With his remaining energy, he knew he couldn’t survive for long. He perished in this world. I was with him. I saw his energy disperse and convert itself into the Wellspring—into this regenerative source underneath us, right here, in the middle of the ocean. A reservoir beneath the surface of the water. The source of all human magic.”

“What happens if the source is destroyed?” Eliot asks.

“Your magical gifts are an echo. An echo of Prometheus’ essence. It is a part of the energy that once made Prometheus divine. This is why magicians used to be referred to as the God-touched. And the Wellspring is important because it’s not a stagnant pool of magic water. It’s alive, too; Prometheus had converted energy into this. As long as he lives, human magicians will retain their gifts. If he dies, it will be the end of all magic in humans. And many worlds, including yours, will suffer.”

“Is that why we couldn’t do shit if the Junctions were compromised? If there’s no ambient energy somewhere?” Margo asks.

“Yes. Which brings me to my next reason for calling you here. When Prometheus died and converted his essence into the Wellspring, I had very little time to work out a solution to distribute his energy. I knew keeping the Wellspring alive and protected was important for the sake of human magic, but it took me much longer to understand why. 

“To distribute the source across all human lands—this world and others—I created Junctions. They are difficult to find, much like the Neitherlands itself, but not impossible. Mayakovsky here discovered the Junctions’ existence. He and Everett were among the first to do so. But Everett is exploiting the Wellspring’s power. Playing God, so to speak. His recklessness puts the Wellspring in a vulnerable position. Recently I have come to a breakthrough. I have Mayakovsky to thank for helping me, as well as your mother, and Hannah.”

Calypso pushes a button on her remote and zooms in on one section of her hologram model landscape, which now takes up the whole space of the workstation. In the center of the landscape is Castle Blackspire.

“This is a representation of Stormhold in present-time,” Calypso explains. She turns another dial on her remote, and about twenty red lines appear throughout the underside of the hologram landscape. “These are all the Junctions across the Kingdom of Stormhold. One of them is right beneath the Atlas Spire—the first one that Everett discovered and exploited. It is within the District of Ogygia, where you will be during the fall equinox per the terms of Irene McAllister’s challenge. Are you planning to accept?”

Margo shrugs. “I’ve got no choice.”

“Castle Blackspire—and the federal district that surrounds it—was one of my proudest creations. The area was constructed long before Stormhold was established as an independent kingdom. King Rupert was lucky to have found this place as a base of operations during the war. The location of your duel gives us an advantage,” Calypso explains, “because I will be monitoring the ambient energy levels from my lab. Mayakovsky tells me you are advanced in hand-to-hand combat as well as magical. Is that true?”

“I can take McAllister if it’s hand-to-hand,” Margo says. Whether she’ll win, she wouldn’t know with confidence, but she’ll bring down the bitch if she has to die, too.

“Good,” Mayakovsky says. At long last, he puts down his booze and his book, and claps his hands twice. The lights over the room flicker back on, and Calypso restores her hologram to its original form. “If duel goes to shit, we shut down ambient energy. Give you fighting chance. Time to kill, or time to run, up to you.”

“Wouldn’t we all be fucked?” Eliot asks.

“Mayakovsky and I are working on a means to convert the Junction into a different energy source. The ambient energy will be out momentarily, but it won’t be permanent. We’ll come up with a specific plan of execution before the equinox and inform the Wolfs.”

“So we have the element of surprise. Not sure that’ll help me win,” Margo says.

“You’ll have Prometheus on your side, too,” Calypso says.

“What?”

“The Wellspring lives as an extension of him. I don’t believe his work is done. I plan to reboot the system, for lack of a better word. Turn off the Junction and distribute the Wellspring water again, and it may turn the tides of this internal strife in your favor. Your intentions are selfless—you want to help your people, your friends. McAllister’s intention is centered around her personal gain.”

“You’re saying magic water can wash McAllister’s power away?”

“Consider your friends, Alice and Zelda,” Calypso says, not entertaining the sarcasm. “They acquired the ability to do magic years after they were born, but their power is as strong as anyone’s. If the Wellspring can give magic, it can take it back.”

“Fine. It can’t hurt to try,” Margo admits.

“That’s the spirit,” Calypso says. The colloquialism is unexpected coming from a nymph, but she must have picked it up from one of the human inhabitants here. “Before you leave with Quentin tomorrow, your mother wants to see you. Alone,” she adds, looking at Eliot.

“Where?”

“At the Queen’s Keep. I’ll show you a picture of what it looks like.”

Ten minutes later, with the photo of the Queen’s Keep fresh in their minds, Margo and Eliot say their goodbyes to Calypso and their old magic teacher. Calypso shakes their hands and tells Margo she has faith in her, which is not much consolation, but nonetheless appreciated. Mayakovsky’s parting words, true to his character, are much more direct.

“I trained you to be better than McAllister,” he says. “Do not fuck up. Destroy her.”

* * *

The Queen’s Keep is underwhelming in size once Margo walks close enough to see her reflection off the steel surface. This structure stands in the middle of the spiraling archipelago like a pyre. Triangular shards of steel protrude from the island’s rocky foundation at an angle, forming a wide circle at the base and joining at the top into a cone-like structure. There is no need for an oversized castle in a magically-formed archipelago with a population of one hundred and twelve, but the lack of pretense is nonetheless a cultural shock.

Margo pussies up and steps forward to search for an entrance. After leaving the lab, heads swirling with an overload of information concerning the Wellspring and Junctions and ambient energy, Eliot has dropped Margo off here and levitated away to find Quentin and Fen. 

Maybe Margo should have gone with him. Maybe she could have asked Fen to keep her company, even though she has barely known her. There is something about her new friend’s presence that makes shit less terrifying. _Not_ that anyone needs to know Margo finds meeting her long-lost mother an uncomfortable ordeal.

Upon sensing Margo’s presence, one shard of steel retreats back into the ground, leaving a doorway open. The shard rises back up to close the entrance behind her after she enters. She finds herself going in a clockwise spiral again, as if the architecture of the Keep is an extension of the Netherlands’ overall landscape, completing the spiral from inside the building. Past several closed doors, she sees one that sits ajar with light coming from inside.

Margo walks into a study twice as small as the engine room inside the Muntjac. Her mother waits for her from behind a desk, the book in front of her wide open but untouched. She stands at the doorway and studies the woman in front of her: curly hair, dimpled smile, and sun-kissed brown skin with freckles on the nose. Queen Samira, or Mira, as she prefers, looks as young as the portraits that depict her at Castle Blackspire. The years she spent here had not put an extra wrinkle in her appearance.

“You wish to see me?” Margo asks. Her voice barely carries across the bare room, which seems to function solely as a place for research and carries little else in decoration.

“I heard what happened to Raymond.” Mira stands and walks past her desk to greet her daughter. She doesn’t initiate hugs—thank fuck—and invites Margo to join her at the velvet armchairs in front of the fireplace. “How are you doing?”

“Stormhold is falling to shit, haven’t you heard?” Margo settles into the seat and tilts her head back against the soft padding at the back. “Which brings me here. Asking for… fuck, I don’t know. Help?”

“I see.”

The surprise is evident in Mira’s voice, as much as she wants to hide it. She has probably expected a grown-up version of the sweet five-year-old she had left behind, and here Margo is, cursing up a storm. 

Which is no one’s fault. Margo had talked to her mother every few months since she was fifteen, always short messages through a system that Asmo set up to avoid detection by the eyes-and-ears of the castle. But when Margo is hypervigilant about spyware, she doesn’t spend enough time constructing her messages to sound like herself. On the other hand, Mira had altered the tone of her messages to reflect how she speaks, taking advantage of her freedom under the Wellspring’s illusions.

“Look, mom.” Margo straightens her back to face her mother. “I know I’m not who you’re expecting me to be. And I’m not pissed about it, believe me, I’m not. It’s been years since we last saw each other, and I’m glad we have this chance to-to talk, no technology, no encrypted bullshit to throw off the hackers trying to spy on me, whatever. It sucks that it took an assassination for us to meet, but it’s… good to see you.”

Mira waits for Margo to finish, already smiling. “I admit, I don’t know what I expected, but I’ve been in touch with the Wolfs. I have been since you gathered your own Centurion Guards. Kady tells me you’re formidable.”

“I don’t know how much that helps against Irene.”

“Are you here for advice?”

Margo shrugs. “Unless you can un-banish yourself, I think I’m on my own for this one. So if you’ve got any Queen-wisdom for me, now’s the time.”

What, really, can the Neitherlands give her when all its inhabitants are banished from Stormhold? She has no desire to bring her mother or any inhabitant back to the political clusterfuck that follows King Raymond’s death. Many of those who settled here are only here by her father’s decision. She won’t make them come back, even if the wards can be lifted.

“The Wolfs and I have been talking,” Mira says. “And I’m willing to travel as far as I can. If the wards fall, I will be there to help.”

“How?”

“The key is the Muntjac. It can fly overhead, invisible. I’ll be up near the clouds.”

“The fight takes place at Blackspire. Might be a long drop from the sky.”

“I can channel lightning,” Mira reminds her. She is Lady Hurricane, after all—a fulminokinetic, true to her title, who bends lightning to her will. “The wards may not allow me in, but there are plenty I could do during a thunderstorm.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Margo asks. “Coming back, fighting again?”

“To help the rightful Queen? Of course I am.” Mira reaches across her armrest and stops. Margo nods and lets her mom hold her hand and squeeze it. “I appreciate you looking out for me. It should be a mother’s job to worry, not the child’s.”

“I’m not a child anymore.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Mira’s voice cracks a little. “I’m sorry I missed seeing you grow up.”

“How about we make a deal?” Margo asks. “No more apologies. What’s done is done—we focus on fixing the present so the future can be less shit for both of us.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay.” Margo takes in a deep breath and readies herself for what’s been on her mind all day. “I want to ask what really happened the night you left.”

“Of course.”

“There’s a part you can skip. The story you told me that night. It took me a few years to figure it out, but Mayakovsky helped fill in the blanks,” Margo recalls. She blurts out the story quickly, not willing to dawdle now that she finally has the chance to ask. “Father was dying from the after-effects of the curse Rupert put on him before you could take him down. You fell in love with him and married him. You wanted a future together. 

“Mayakovsky told you defying death was a slippery slope, but you begged, and he helped you harness the Wellspring magic from the Junction at the Atlas Spire to save father’s life. What you didn’t know was that he was so far gone, his Shade had already crossed to the Underworld. So he became a different person. Someone who fucked over our family, maybe the kingdom, too.”

Mira pulls her hand back and inclines her head. “That is all true—I’m glad Mayakovsky was there to tell you the full truth when you were old enough. I told you that story so you wouldn’t make the same mistake I did.”

“I had a close call,” Margo admits. She’s surprised she has decided to tell it so quickly, given that it had been tough to share with Fen only hours ago. Overwhelming affections aside, Margo remembers her mom as a good listener. Being in the Neitherlands hasn’t changed that. “Eliot nearly died on a mission. The healers at Blackspire found a cure in time. If they hadn’t, I can’t say what I would’ve done to try and save him.”

“That must have been terrifying. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Margo adds quickly.

“I understand.”

“Can we go back to the story? About the night you left?”

“Yes, let’s.” Mira looks disappointed, but she doesn’t push. “I’ll start with what I already told you through our messages: your father banished me for treason. I sailed away from Stormhold that night, but I didn’t go alone. I had Hannah and the rest of my Centurion Guards. The world believed I was dead from a shipwreck, but we all survived. We were saved and brought here.”

“How were you saved?”

“The ship got wrecked when lightning hit it. I tried to redirect the energy, but it was too overwhelming. We all fell in the water and started to drown. We weren’t far from the Floating-Mountain when it happened, so the water was relatively shallow. Before I fell unconscious, I remember seeing a stream, a glowing stream, sitting at the bottom of the ocean floor. It felt like an enchantment, but nothing humans were capable of. I thought it was speaking to me somehow. Testing me. The glowing stream brought us here, to its source. What we saw was like a river that branches out from the Wellspring.”

“That explains the ambient energy I could feel at sea,” Margo says. “I always wondered why magicians could still do their thing when they’re in the water. No Junction around for miles as far as I know. This under-the-sea river or whatever it is must be a substitute.”

“Interesting idea. I wonder...” Mira trails off and walks away to grab the journal at her desk. She scribbles down a few lines, then shuts the journal into her drawer again and rejoins Margo by the fireplace. “I’ll talk it over with Calypso and Mayakovsky after you leave tomorrow. What you said about substituting one source for another might be the key to upgrading the ambient system to replace the Junctions. But that’s a discussion for another time.”

“There’s something else I’ve been wondering about the sea. Or not the sea itself, but the river that draws from the Wellspring. It’s the same source that the Reclamationists use to recruit their people and give them magic, but they steal from Junctions, and the river gives to the people who come across it. You and everyone else.”

“The Wellspring is sentient in its own way. I’m sure Calypso has mentioned as much?”

“I know someone who has been given magic after she was born without it,” Margo says. “A friend. Her name is Alice. She said she felt something inside her change after almost drowning at sea, like the water has judged her and gave her another chance to live. After the navy pulled her out of the water, she started glowing. She became a phosphromancer.”

Mira leans forward, entranced by the possibility. “Incredible.”

“Calypso told me Prometheus lives on in the Wellspring, and it runs on his conscience. Do you think the Wellspring gave Alice magic as a gift?” Margo asks.

“There are lots of things about the origin of magic that I don’t understand. But if what you say is true—if Alice had received the magic and found her discipline, and still thrives with this power today—it’s possible that Prometheus intends to give magic to more humans so they can continue saving themselves.”

Then Mira sighs and clasps her hands. 

“We could discuss magic ambiance and human nature for hours and hours,” Mira continues, “and trust me, I’d be happy to do it one day—but you need rest tonight before you leave in the morning. I shouldn’t keep you for too long. You at least deserve the full truth about my banishment before you go home to restore your crown.”

“The full story. Right.” Margo is disappointed that her first time speaking to her mother has to be under time constraints. It’s surprising, given she has hesitated to enter the Queen’s Keep at all. But it’s a welcome surprise. “Let’s hear it.”

“I was banished for trying to save some people who also received magic from the Wellspring. They allied themselves with Everett and his philosophy about how humans all deserve to unlock their highest potential. They claim Prometheus was foolish to only choose a few candidates to receive his gift. Do you know who these people are?”

“The Floaters?” Margo asks. That was more than an educated guess. Micah’s death and Margo’s failed engagement with Fomar both stemmed from this mess. “Shit, seriously?”

“After seeing how King Rupert turned out under the influence of the Wellspring, your father and I decided to banish Everett from the kingdom and sever our ties with the Reclamationists who enabled Rupert’s reckless pursuits of necromancy. After Everett left Stormhold, he resumed his operations somewhere else: in the Floating-Mountain, where the Junction provides ambient energy that surpasses what the Floater population needs. Queen Agate herself was Everett’s biggest supporter. She felt her kingdom was vulnerable, for being so isolated and dependent on the mountain’s unique geography for protection.

“I didn’t know at the time that Raymond’s motive as King had changed. We usurped King Rupert so Stormhold could enter an era of peace, but Raymond wanted our influence to grow. He knew about the Floating-Mountain’s lack of political alliances and wanted to seize the mountain for our kingdom. From all the reports we received about magicians in the Floating-Mountain, it wasn’t hard to deduce who was behind this surge. I stopped him; we argued, and he pretended to give in and honor my request. Behind my back, Raymond tried negotiating with Queen Agate to give us control over her land. When Agate refused, your father arranged an assassination for her entire family, including the two princes. 

“Around this time, Hannah and I grew closer, and I saw her as a confidante. I told her about my marriage troubles, and she revealed a suspicion she had—that Raymond no longer has his Shade. Irene McAllister was assigned to take out the Floaters’ royal family, so when she departed out of the blue one night, Hannah and I followed her, along with the rest of my Centurion Guards. 

“We couldn’t save Agate’s husband in time, but we intervened before Irene could take out the princes or the Queen herself. Irene gave us the slip and returned a week after we did, and ratted us out to Raymond before we could stop her. For our treason, we were banished. Raymond said if we cared for the Floaters more than our own people, we should sail back there and join them.”

Mira finishes recounting the story and stops, giving Margo time to take it all in. “You asked for time to say goodbye?” Margo asks.

“I did,” Mira says. “Raymond gave us all two hours. I got to spend one last night with you. Hannah used that time to find her daughter.”

In some way, Margo was reliving her early memories through her mother’s eyes. It was comforting and upsetting all at once. “I’m glad you did.”

“I wanted to take you with me. I’m so, so sorry I left you behind. The only way to keep you by my side was to kill your father, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He was my best friend; I couldn’t unsee it, even if the part of him that loved me had died a long time ago.”

“He’s the one to blame,” Margo says. “You shouldn’t have had to choose.”

Mira’s eyes speak of guilt, and she shakes her head. “Because of what I did, and what I didn’t do, you never had a choice.”

“I told you, mom; no more apologies,” Margo reminds her. “Fuck-ups are inevitable. Pretty sure it runs in the family.”

The joke, though self-deprecating, makes Mira chuckle. Margo rises from her seat by the fireplace but doesn’t walk out the door. Instead, she opens her arms in acceptance. The flame dims itself in the fireplace in response, giving the mother-and-daughter the privacy of an emotional farewell.

Mira stands and asks, “Are you sure?”

Nodding, Margo lets Mira pull her into a hug. The top of her head reaches her mother’s eyebrows, and she finds strange comfort in the fact that she has not outgrown her mother.

* * *

Once outside the Queen’s Keep, Margo finds Hannah sitting by the water with her legs dangling over the edge of the island, guiding the waves to ebb and flow with her bare feet. Hannah turns at the sound of her footsteps but doesn’t stand to greet her. 

“Thought I might see you out here,” Margo says. “Aren’t you cold?”

Hannah waits for Margo to initiate the conversation, understanding her need for space. Margo had cherished Hannah’s quiet company as a child when her mother’s open affections became stifling, even though she hadn’t had too many years in the company of either woman. Sixteen years, Hannah still understands her the same way. She always gives Margo the chance to process her feelings in peace.

“I can warm up the waves all I please.” Hannah pats the space next to her and invites Margo to sit, which she does. “I want to ask how you’re feeling, if you’re in the mood to talk.”

“There’s a lot on my mind,” Margo says. “Things are going to shit in Stormhold. I don’t know how I’m supposed to fix everything.”

It feels treacherous, confessing to someone whose initial purpose was to infiltrate Margo’s family in the name of the Deserters. But Hannah has risked her life to help Margo’s mother, and for their treason, they were banished together. Though Margo had spent years fighting the Deserters, she understands that allegiance lies on a spectrum, and one lie or one truth could bring a person closer to full loyalty or further from it. It’s all about choice.

“Calypso is working on something with Mayakovsky,” Hannah says. “I think they’re close to a breakthrough—I’m sure your mother has already told you all this. We won’t let you fight alone.”

“I appreciate all your help. It’s good to see you. You and mom both.”

Hannah looks hesitant to voice the question on her mind, but Margo has come to the Neitherlands, expecting to have this conversation. Kady had told Margo about their moms’ growing intimacy soon after she and Margo met. It hasn’t been difficult to accept, and the fact that Hannah risked banishment for Mira all those years ago indicates she may have harbored these feelings for a lot longer.

It also helps that Kady feels just as amused about their status as stepsisters. Both of them had grown up as only children with no understanding of how siblings work. In the end, they have become somewhat of a hybrid between friends and sisters. Labels aside, Kady is family. That much Margo knows for sure. She has given Margo a life outside of Blackspire, and got her back in touch with her mother. For these things, Margo will always be grateful.

Margo shrugs and smiles to show she’s not angry. Her mother is her own person no matter what past marriages complicate things, and she has chosen Hannah to share a life with. “You’re two are free to love who you love.”

Out in the Neitherlands, weddings are nonexistent with no officials around, but the time Hannah and Mira spent together means much more than a legal binding. Some day after Stormhold finds some semblance of peace again, since Margo’s father has passed away, there will be a chance for the two women to return and make their marriage official, should they choose to.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“You make her happy. That shit isn’t easy to come by.”

“Your acceptance means more than I can say.”

“There’s something else,” Margo adds. “I know you were a Deserter. And in case you wonder, no, I’m not holding that against you. You’re not the only ex-Deserter I’ve met.”

“Marina?” Hannah guesses. 

“Yeah. Did the Wolfs tell you about her?”

“Kady did.” Hannah rises to her feet and beckons for Margo to follow. “I’ll take you to your cabin. It’s been a long day.”

Margo walks beside her and holds back a yawn. It’s uncanny how well Hannah can deduce when to stop a conversation. “We’ll catch up after I un-banish you,” Margo says. “Does that sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Instead of going the full way over the rising stone paths, Hannah makes a wide berth in the water so they can walk across without getting soaked, a shortcut. Margo used to watch Hannah work back when she served as a crownguard. Hannah isn’t the only hydromancer Margo has met, but the way she controls the flow of water is by far the most graceful.

“Thank you for walking me back here,” Margo says. 

They are at Margo’s cabin already. Tomorrow, Margo has to leave for the Wolfs Headquarters. Margo opens her arms and offers a hug to her stepmother, which Hannah accepts with a smile of relief. “I was worried you would have nothing to say to me.”

“You think I wouldn’t remember you?”

“You were five.”

“I remembered,” Margo assures her. “I missed my mom, but I missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired heavily by Avatar the Last Airbender, along with Legend of Korra, and The Dragon Prince. Kady is essentially an earthbender and I have absolutely no shame in making her this way, though metalbending here is a different discipline, so her power doesn't cover that. The runic side of magic are heavily inspired by the way magic works in the Dragon Prince.
> 
> Also, LilyAceofDiamonds (beta) and I share the OC of Margo’s mother, Samira. So if you see Mira mentioned in any of her works, that is why. We created her together from our conversations about the plot of my fic “Come See About Me”, and she has grown on us both. 


	9. The Storm on Midsummer's Eve

_Fen celebrated her sixteenth birthday with Julia and Harriet and the Hobermans, sharing a hearty dinner in the bakery kitchen. It was the second year in a row where her father hadn’t made it back home. She knew because she had set the security cam outside her house to alert her if someone came to the front porch, but her wristband did not chime._

_She put on a smile anyway, and shoved her disappointment aside for the people she considered family. They were keen to steer the conversation away from Fen’s father, but she acknowledged his absence by thanking them. It had taken longer than she wanted to admit, but she admitted to herself that she was done trying to please a man who obsessed over a past he couldn’t change. She blew out the candles on her cake and closed her eyes, and wished she would always feel at home somewhere._

_The next day she walked back into her house after spending the night at Harriet’s. There was a birthday cake in the kitchen and the sound of someone fumbling around in the lab. Her father, Dint, was inside, cleaning up workstations and sorting the nuts and bolts into slots in the drawers. Which was the first sign that something was off—he had never been one to pick up after himself when he was intent on an inspiration that struck him, always shoving things aside until they piled up in heaps. He was humming to himself as Fen stood at the door._

_“Dad?”_

_“Fen!” He stopped what he was doing and greeted her. “It’s your birthday!”_

_“Are…you okay?”_

_He frowned. “Oh, Gods. I missed it. Did I miss it?”_

_“It’s fine,” Fen said. She walked in and examined the uncharacteristic tidiness of the lab. “What’s all this?”_

_“Thought I’d put things away. It’s been a few years since I last tinkered with tech.”_

_What was he talking about? He had obsessed over technology since Fen was little. His passion had never died—only now, his inventions were a means to an end, transactional and sold to the wrong people for any possible lead on where his wife may have been taken. Fen’s confused look went unnoticed as Dint’s gaze stopped at the portrait on the wall: a four-year-old Fen riding her dad’s shoulders, and her mom Freya standing beside them, grinning and giving Fen a high-five. This was taken a month before the Couple took Freya away. Dint had hung it in his lab to remind himself what he’d lost, but now it was nothing more than a foreign object._

_“She walked out on us,” Dint said. It took a moment for Fen to realize he was talking to her. “It was a long time ago. You might not remember it. Maybe we should take it down.”_

_But Dint kept the portrait on the wall and walks away. Perhaps he remembered he had cherished it once. As he continued to tidy up, Fen ran to Harriet’s and asked for help. That evening, Fen and Dint sat in Harriet’s kitchen as a psychic who lived two hours away, a teenage girl named Plum, looked through Dint’s recent memories._

_“He’s been compromised,” Plum said. “The Deserters found him.”_

_“Deserters?” Dint asked. “I thought they were a Stormhold problem.”_

_“He ran into Gavin,” Plum explained, addressing Fen and Harriet directly. “And Gavin brought an old friend. Oblivion. Exiled from Stormhold seven years ago.”_

_Dint had spent searching for leads on Freya, risking his life by associating with black market dealers. At last, he had come across the right people and put an end to his search, but not because he found answers. Oblivion had erased the love he had of Freya, leaving him with nothing except a face and a name. He had been forced to move on, and with Fen as the only tangible family in his life, it seemed he was finally content with being present in Fen’s life._

_This was the father Fen had once wanted. This was wrong._

* * *

Josh leads Fen to the infirmary, guided by the vague set of directions that Kady has sent. Like many rooms in the Neitherlands, Josh says, it is cave-like and drilled into the interior of the boulders. The only difference is how many flights of stairs they have to go down, far enough that there are no more windows on the walls. 

They must be under the water by the time they reach the landing, but the bright space takes away any anticipated claustrophobia Fen has about going underground so deep. The atrium looks like part of a state-run hospital in Filmore, complete with chairs in the waiting area and a receptionist’s desk, though instead of a person, the check-in is a tablet mounted on the desk’s high surface.

Fen enters her own name and the name of the person she’s visiting: Quentin Coldwater. A doctor emerges from a door on the side and introduces herself as Dr. London. Josh says goodnight and disappears up the many flights of steps again. Still in earshot, he mutters a string of curses as he climbs up. Fen chuckles as Dr. London leads her down the hall into Quentin’s room. 

Fen has never seen Quentin in person until now. Harriet had enlisted a psychic’s help in extracting Julia’s last memory from her mind to have something tangible to remember him by. An artistically inclined Wolf operative has painted Quentin and Julia together based on the memory, and the painting still hangs by Julia’s bed. At thirteen, Quentin was a small, skinny boy with neat brown hair carefully parted. Now he is a grown man in a ponytail, his smile boyish and gentle. 

“Quentin?” Fen calls by the open door.

Quentin waves. “That’s my name. Hey. Fen, right?”

Fen nods. “Eliot told me you’d be here.”

“I heard you found Josh on his ship,” Quentin says. He shuffles in his bed to make space, propping his injured knee on a pillow by the wall.

“I seem to be doing that a lot lately.” Fen sits by the edge of his bed. “Finding things.”

“He said you were with Jules.”

Fen beams at the coincidence of their shared nickname for Julia, but doesn’t comment when Quentin tilts his head in question. “We saw Josh was wanted as a Deserter. Figured he was framed. Honestly, I hadn’t thought this through. I’m lucky to get past the ward.”

Quentin blinks a few times and studies the shelf across the room, half bare and half decorated with leather-bound books and corked beakers of potions. “The ward is precise. It-it keeps away the banished,” his words come out hurried, stumbling in his excitement to share what he knows, “and people who, um, people who weren’t born in Stormhold. That’s why the Wolfs Travelers don’t leave the kingdom, the ones who weren’t born here, you know, unless they bring someone along who…”

He trails off with an embarrassed chuckle, but Fen shakes her head. “No, it’s interesting. I’ve been wondering about this. And I think it’s ‘cause of my mom. She was born here.”

“Yeah! Yeah. Blood magic. That’s probably it.”

To Fen’s surprise and relief, Quentin doesn’t press the subject. Julia had told Fen that Quentin knows when to ask questions, and when to wait for the answers to come. It’s surreal to see all of Julia’s shared memories build up to the person sitting by Fen’s side now, coming alive like Jules had forged him with only her words—Julia, who is waiting for Fen to come home, bringing the friend they share, and the friend Fen hopes to get to know.

“You’re saying you can’t come back to Filmore with me?” Fen asks.

“The Muntjac might make it possible—she’s sentient, but she’s not restricted in the same way us humans are… because the Gods made her? Or something. I’m still trying to figure it out. But I’ll ask Penny.” Quentin winces at his name. “Or I guess Vic, but she’s busy with Sheila’s errands, so. Probably Penny.”

“Penny and I have met.”

All Quentin has to say to that is, “Oof.”

“Yeah. I almost impaled him with my knife.”

“I can see why Julia likes you.”

_Likes_. Quentin doesn’t know that word had once held more meaning than one. It’s the first time Fen has thought about the picnic since it had happened two nights ago. So much had changed since then. A phaser on a hoverboard, their face obscured behind a visor. An impromptu rescue gone awry. Broken pieces of what was once her father’s hovercraft. A spar which left Fen lying on the ground of a training room with ice shackled to her limbs, shadowed by a smug, victorious princess on top. 

Fen pulls out of her daze. “I can see why you like _her_.”

Quentin accepts her compliment with a gracious beam. Fen is sorry to have to break it. “Please tell me if I’m over the line, but I’ve been wondering how it happened. How you two got… separated. I never asked Jules.”

“How much has she told you about Stormhold?”

“Besides you? Not much. She said you lived on the same street. You shared a tutor growing up. Her parents and her sister are all magicians, and they gave her a hard time. They’ve got it in their heads to—” the very thought makes Fen angry—“ _fix_ her.”

Quentin nods and deliberates over his next words. “I was like her in that way, too.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” He pauses. “Is that all she said?”

“Her mother also has contacts with the Order of Reclamations.”

“Ahh.”

“She said you ran away with her when you were thirteen. The Reclamationists caught you a few days later. They tested you. You turned out to be a magician; she didn’t. So you were forced to serve the king, and she got exiled. That’s all I remember.”

“You know why we ran?” Quentin asks. Fen shakes her head. “We overheard them talking—my mom and her mom. By then, her parents had been divorced for years. Mine were together, but arguing a lot. I think a lot of those fights were about me. My dad was always against going the desperate way. Everett’s way. But to my mom… she gave a lot of shit about our reputation. It didn’t help that I was their only child.”

“So what?” Fen asks, trying to keep her voice low. “Your moms wanted you to take power from the Wellspring?”

“That’s what I heard. My mom said _, ‘How long will it take?’_ And her mom said _, ‘I’ve talked to Gavin. He can pick up the kids tomorrow around noon. They’ll be back before dinner.’_ That was when I ran and found Julia. We were off on the road, but it only took three days for the Reclamationists to track us. Maybe my mom, or her mom, or both of them paid Everett to do it. To find us. But instead of bringing us home, they took us away.”

Quentin’s last memory of his family was his mother trying to fix him. It’s not surprising to Fen, given what Jules had already revealed, but it stings to hear it confirmed. “Thank you for telling me. This must have been hard.”

Fen doesn’t say she’s sorry a second time. Her pity can’t fix his past. 

“I never stopped thinking about her,” Quentin says.

“She talks about you all the time, too; says you’re the best thing that happened to her. I know she blames herself for what happened, but I never saw it that way. I always try to tell her it’s not her fault she wasn’t a magician.”

“ _Wasn’t_?” he asks.

Fen winces and shakes her head. The last part had slipped out unintentionally. Quentin will find out when he sees her anyway, but it’s not Fen’s place to tell him how Julia had ended up with the magic she once desperately wanted. “Something has changed since the last time you saw her. Julia’s is coming to terms with her new powers.”

The thirteen-year-old Julia that stumbled upon Fen’s village would have been ecstatic. But today, the magic haunts Julia like the mark of banishment on her wrist—a reminder of a bad decision. The irony is not lost on Fen. Fen doesn’t say anything else, but when Quentin reaches for her hand in comfort, she squeezes it back, grateful that his story is a much happier one than the worst-case scenario that Julia still dreams about on bad nights.

“I think I understand,” Quentin says, then releases his hold on her hand.

They hear footsteps coming from down the hall. It must be the healer, coming to chastise Quentin for staying up so late. “I’ll let you rest. Good night.”

“I’m fine,” Quentin whines, “I can’t believe the healers are making me stay here. Say hi to Eliot for me if you see him.”

“Really? You’re all good now? I heard you got hurt pretty bad.”

Fen stands up but lingers at the foot of Quentin’s bed. This may be the only time she and Quentin have to talk before they have to worry about wards, flying ships, and an entire kingdom’s fate. 

“Well, yeah. But this Wellspring is, like, Gods-level at healing. The healers had to give me stitches at the knee. See this?” He lifts the blanket to show his knee, the leg of his pajama pants rolled up on one side. “The threads blend right in with a drop of magic-water. You can’t even tell it was there. Cool, right?”

“Shit. Yeah.” She leans in for a closer look and examines the seemingly unblemished skin.

“There’s no way I could get this done if I were in Stormhold or any nation. Here the Wellspring takes care of what the human healers can’t accomplish.” Quentin looks up from his outstretched leg. His eyes are wary. “I—I feel kind of bad. You know?”

“All this power locked up in the middle of the ocean.”

“It would be nice if everyone gets their knees healed so quickly,” Quentin agrees.

“I know Mira and Hannah and the others became guardians of this place. I know why they have to do what they do. I’d hate for Everett or the Couple to get their hands on this source, but…”

“It doesn’t feel right to leave the rest of the world hanging,” he finishes her sentence. 

“You’re right. It doesn’t.”

“I’m glad Calypso’s working on something to replace Junctions and get more of this power out there. I heard she’s getting close to a breakthrough.”

“That’s good.” Fen startles when a healer knocks on Quentin’s door, and shrugs apologetically before making her way out. “Good night, Quentin.”

“Good night.”

So much of the world is about to change. 

* * *

The guest cabins are metallic structures built to resemble traditional wooden houses that line up on two piers to the opposite sides of the island where the queens live. Most of the time, the cabins remain unoccupied. Each cabin is the size of guest rooms at roadside inns, but the amenities are self-sufficient, cozy enough for a week or two’s stay. A few of these guest cabins had been cleared out when Mira and Hannah got word of the visitors, but there wasn’t enough space for everyone to get their own. 

After bidding Quentin good night and leaving the infirmary, Fen shuts her eyes for hours without sleeping inside one of the aforementioned cabins, wordlessly chastising herself for being unable to sleep until Margo returns to their shared cabin. Tomorrow morning, Fen will give Josh a piece of her mind for conspiring with Eliot to set her up with Margo. Quentin is forced to sleep in the infirmary for a last-minute physical therapy session before he leaves with the Muntjac tomorrow, and Josh had so kindly offered himself to be the Captain’s roommate after giving Fen a wink.

Margo is quiet when she finally unlocks the door with her fob and steps in, and her breaths are slow and measured as she fixes her gaze on Fen’s form facing the wall. Fen debates shutting her eyes and pretending she’s already asleep, but resigns herself to a late-night conversation when she hears Margo curse under her breath.

“Hey,” Fen says before she can second-guess her idea to reach out. “Rough night?”

“I’m not used to talking about feelings,” Margo says. “My mom, on the other hand...”

“I won’t ask.”

Fen turns to face her, surprised to see the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile. Margo strips off her boots and shimmies off her clothes down to her undergarments while keeping her gaze on Fen. The dimness of the moon-lit room permits Fen to pretend her cheeks aren’t flushing. 

Margo slips underneath the blankets and brings her arms up to prop her hands below her head. “It felt good, I guess. Talking to her. But it didn’t feel like much.”

“You’ve hyped yourself up for a life without her.”

They’d talked about this on the way here, but Fen hadn’t told her where exactly her mom had gone. Margo doesn’t blink and waits for Fen to finish her thought. The tactic of her silence feels militaristic, but Fen is compelled to give in to the silent question. “I know a thing or two about being left behind.”

“Your mom, right?”

“More or less.” Fen remembers the nights she spent sleeping on the couch waiting for someone who didn’t come home. “My mom started it. I don’t blame her for being caught. But sometimes I wish she were a different person.”

There is a long pause before Margo says, “You’re not the first person Everett fucked over in his sad life.”

“It wasn’t Everett’s people that took her.” Fen nestles in the warmth of her own blankets folded into a cocoon around her. “She’s a magician. And she used to be a Deserter.”

Margo tilts her head up in surprise. “Do I know her?”

“I don’t think so. My mom was six when the Couple found her off the streets and took her in. They took out her Shade before she knew what it meant to lose it. I don’t think she stayed long enough for an alias—she ran away when she was sixteen. Met my dad a few years later and thought she was done running.”

“You said you don’t remember her much?”

“Mostly what dad told me.” Fen dares herself to continue, remembering the very thought that brought her hovercraft soaring through the sky into Margo two nights ago. “The Couple found her and took her away on Midsummer’s Eve. There was a storm.” 

“Sixteen years ago?”

“You remember it, too, don’t you?” Fen asks. 

Fen had known this fact for years, the sad coincidence that she and Margo both lost their mom on the same night. This isn’t something she thought she would ever bring up, but her life has been full of surprises in these last few days.

She remembers watching Queen Samira’s funeral. It was broadcasted live across the world. It had taken place at the garden behind Castle Blackspire two days after the storm on Midsummer’s Eve. The sun had been beaming that day, rising after a season of endless rain. On the perfect lawn, besides marble statues and topiaries, Princess Margo had stood beside the king without shedding a tear, scowling like she was angry at the world. 

Though Fen was only four when she’d seen the funeral, it struck her in a way she could not comprehend until years later. She’d felt a connection with Margo, one born from shared loss. Perhaps this is why she hasn’t been keen to judge her so harshly when the media insists on portraying her as a miniature of her father’s 

“Mom came to my room to say goodbye that night. She told me a story about her and my father in their early days as the king and queen,” Margo says. She lowers her arms, crosses them over the blanket, and hugs her chest. “Next morning, my father told me she traveled across the sea to visit the Floating-Mountain and died in a shipwreck.”

The death of Queen Samira had come as a shock to all the kingdoms, especially the fact that it had occurred to the queen to set sail in the middle of a thunderstorm, one not even she could conquer. Fen had learned about Queen Samira’s legacy in school. Lady Hurricane was true to her name until the very end. But the end, it turns out, is only Mira’s beginning. 

“I’m sorry,” Fen says.

“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry the Deserters ruined lives all the way to fucking Filmore.”

“I never blamed you for that. You or the king.”

“Did you ever… ” Margo hesitates, and Fen encourages her with a nod. “Did you ever think about what you’d say if you find her?”

“Honestly? I don’t remember her much. But I did use to wonder what she was like. I reconnected with her when I was fourteen.” Fen grins at Margo’s incredulous look. “Harriet got me in touch—she escaped the Deserters and crossed paths with Sheila. Small world, huh?”

“No shit. I know Sheila.”

The more Fen hears about her mutual connections with Margo, the more her image of Margo disintegrates, replaced by a woman who “I sometimes imagined how it would play out, seeing her in person. In my mind, it always happened back home in Wall, like, she’d find her way back or something. Ironically I came all the way to Stormhold to find her.”

“I’m not surprised you took after her. What does she do for the Wolfs?”

“She makes knives for the operatives. It’s her discipline—metal-control. Ferrokinesis. Her name is Freya.”

“Huh.” Margo blinks twice at the name. “Yeah, I’ve heard of her—as a Wolf, not a Deserter. The Wolfs call her Quicksilver.”

_Quicksilver_. 

Fen sees the name come to life in the form of a magician—her mother’s hands gently gliding across the metal of her finest blades, the stacked bangles on her wrist sliding along, guided by her motion. She remembers her mother in pieces across four years of her early life, fragments of different puzzles that she can’t complete. Now her mother comes to life in her mind as Quicksilver, a knifemaker who raises the central ridge of a longsword by one gentle stroke of her finger. 

Fen doesn’t mind that Margo is watching the smile light up her face. “It suits her.”

“Did you ever give yourself an alias?” 

“No. I don’t know why—none of us had it in my part of Filmore. Did you?”

“Someone chose it for me.”

“Tell me.”

Margo turns to lie on her back and watch the ceiling. “Frostbite.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Fen thinks Margo isn’t going to answer, when she hears, “Someone I knew when I was little. Her name is Marina. I used to call her Sunshine ‘cause it’s ironic, and she hates it. She called me Frostbite as vengeance..”

Margo turns to face the wall, and that’s when Fen sees the tattoo: sitting between her shoulder blades is a bold serif stencil with the letter M, surrounded by symbols that Fen doesn’t recognize. The symbols remind her of spears and daggers, and they line the periphery of the “M” like a fence. Fen traces the black lines with her gaze up to the nape of Margo’s neck. The tail end of the tattoo disappears beneath the blanket covering the middle of Margo’s back, but Fen pictures the ink sinking deep into Margo’s spine.

A flash of scarlet and gold glistens across the surface of the tattoo and fades. Fen gasps. The flash of colors looks like a blaze of fire coming to life, burning beneath the black ink under Margo’s skin. Margo cranes her head back and catches Fen in the act of gawking. Instead of glaring, she winks, then turns around to face the wall. 

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Fen asks, grateful not to be called out. 

“Not anymore. The first three weeks were tough—I had to sleep on my stomach.”

“A princess with a tattoo. Unbelievable.”

“The journalists would have a fucking field day.” Margo snorts. “Especially when they hear it was my father’s idea.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“His Majesty was a tyrant, but not a prude.” Margo’s bed creaks when she turns back with a grin that rival’s Eliot’s. “He had it all planned out.”

“As a coming-of-age present?”

Margo laughs. “My coming-of-age gift was an engagement ring to Fomar’s nicer big brother. I got this tattoo when I was seven.”

“What?”

“It’s a cacodemon trap.”

“I didn’t know they could be trapped.”

“Oh, trust me, they don’t want to. This one gave us a riot.” Margo snuggles underneath the blanket, this time letting it fall over her shoulder, covering the tattoo. “But he’s been warming up to me—no pun intended.”

“Does he protect you?”

“That was the idea. You’ve heard about people trying to kidnap or assassinate me, right?”

“Oh, only, like, every two weeks?” Fen responds in kind, accustomed to the bluntness.

Her rhetorical question earns her an approving chuckle. “Used to be a lot less, but cocks got cockier once my mom was out of the way. That’s when I started studying under Mayakovsky, but my father was still paranoid. So. Demon.”

“Is the demon bound to you? Like a shield?”

“He’s more like a ballista, trapped inside me until I set him free. I have to say a code word, and then he’ll pounce. Once he’s gone, he’s gone.”

“How would you know when to use it?”

“I don’t know if there’s a way to know. Might be a ‘fuck-it’ kind of situation.” Margo shuts her eyes but doesn’t turn away again, and Fen knows the conversation is at an end. “Ask me again when he’s free. I’m saving him for McAllister.”

* * *

When the sun rises the next morning, Fen follows suit, even though her mind tells her she’s not back home in Wall to welcome the day with a run through the edge of the Darkling Woods. Fen sees Margo stirring in bed, now facing the wall, the tattoo peeking above the blanket once again. On tiptoes, Fen gathers her clothes and dresses in the bathroom. She walks out to see Margo sitting up in bed with her eyes open, blanket wrapped over her chest.

“Did I wake you?”

“I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night.”

Fen nods and gives her a sympathetic smile, remembering last night’s conversation. She used to be terrified of magicians returning to her village, to take her away to where her mother had gone. Sleeping with one eye open means never trusting herself to surrender her reflexes, but Fen’s fear is muddled now, buried beneath years of growing up without her. Margo’s paranoia will follow her as long as she has a claim to the crown. It must have become worse after the king’s death. 

“I’m going to get some air. Keep me company?” Margo asks. “I bet Eliot and the boys are still snoring up a storm.”

“Not morning people, huh?” Fen is already putting her jacket back on. “We could get the Muntjac ready.”

Ten minutes later, they’re out in the cold, bundled up in black clothes bearing the Stormhold Insignia. Fen searches for the path of rocks above the water’s surface, a route that Eliot had guided her across yesterday. She finds it buried underwater, washed over by the high tide.

“Allow me.” Margo steps forward, facing the open water flowing between the two long stretches of land. 

Fen can see Margo’s mind at work as she eyes the path of the spiraling rocks with one hand. She takes a step back with a shake of her head, shifting her stance to remain unmovable against the narrow strip of land. The air stills before the magic strikes, and Fen watches wordlessly. Margo flings her hands forward to create the icy bridge. A flat, smooth surface forms on top of the water and the buried stone path. 

Margo wrinkles her nose and commands the ice to grow thicker and broader, a sight that Fen beholds wordlessly, so she doesn’t break her concentration. The path expands to accommodate two people walking side-by-side. The ice bridge looks like a blue carpet in front of them, paving the way across. 

Fen doesn’t wait for Margo’s invitation before she steps on. The surface remains sturdy under her weight. The ice doesn’t wobble when Margo steps up beside her and grabs her hand. 

“Oh!” 

“Magic ice is still ice. I don’t want you to slip.” Margo looks down at their hands and loosens her grip. “Is this okay?”

Fen tightens her own grip in response, feeling her stomach drop into the ocean below, followed by her voice. She had witnessed the amount of power Margo can harness in motion; she had dodged ice pellets during their spar and understood its deadly potential when the projectiles are sharp and intended to kill. But Margo’s magic this morning is the most powerful, keeping Fen grounded on the surface of running water.

After crossing into the next island in the spiral-shaped archipelago, Fen and Margo cut through the wide berth of water separating the spiral’s inner ring from the middle one. They travel in a zig-zagging path that paves itself while they break into a sprint. Margo forges the course of her ice bridge with her free hand, guiding the slippery surface to accommodate the flow of the ocean currents underneath. They make it safely onto the next landing, then cross over to confront the next berth of water between the middle and outer rings. 

The outer ring is a small boulder with a rough-chiseled surface perfect for climbing. Margo and Fen let go of each other’s hand and climb their way over, stepping into the nooks and crannies of the boulder’s surface with the tip of their toes. At the top, they converge and realize the other has followed along without question. 

Now they look out to the open sea in search of the Muntjac. Fen expects to see the Muntjac docked alone by the open sea, but she finds her nestled in a torrent of broken wood and fallen masts. The wreckages wash up on the gray sand in various states of decay, impossible to distinguish which parts belong to which ship. All their earlier excitement fades when they see the ship graveyard. They sit at the top of the boulder for a while in silence. 

“This is how everyone came,” Margo says. “Washed up on shore after they nearly drowned.”

“It sucks that they have no way out,” Fen says.

“You’re right, it’s shitty.” Margo leans back against the peak of the boulder. “Back when I was a teenager, and Kady and I first talked, I used to wish my mom would come home. It’s stupid ‘cause I knew she was banished, so finding her wasn’t going to fix anything. But still.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s done is done. But I plan to un-banish everyone after I take McAllister down.”

Fen tilts her head back to feel the gentle heat of the rising sun, a heat soon shadowed by Margo’s silhouette. Margo leans over to watch her with her head propped up on her elbow, a thoughtful look on her face. “They might not want to come back after so many years,” Margo continues, “but I’ll do what I can.”

They stay at the top of the ice slide for a little longer, until the warmth in their bodies from their morning run seeps away into the boulders they lie on.

* * *

Their alone time is cut short by a Traveler popping in at the dock—a woman with dirty blonde hair whose picture Fen has seen in Harriet’s list of contacts. Victoria is not dressed for the weather, and by the looks of her frazzled state, she has taken a few blips to find her way. She shivers and hugs her arms around herself, clutching a tablet close to her chest. 

“Fen! Margo!” Victoria calls out, freeing one arm to wave at them.

Margo makes an ice slide at the windward side of the boulder so they can slide down. They make their way over to the dock quickly, and Margo helps Fen up.

“Good,” Victoria continues, handing the tablet to Fen, “you’re both here. Bad news. Fen, you’ll need to stay low.”

Fen looks at the wanted poster on the screen, composed in the same way as Josh’s poster from two days ago. This one doesn’t have a photo, but a detailed pencil sketch of her face. Her hair is short. The representation is relatively recent. How did anyone see what she looks like?

Her crime? _Suspect for King Raymond’s assassination. Dangerous. Do not approach._

_Affiliations: The Order of Reclamation._

_Discipline: Not Applicable._

_See below for physical descriptions._

“This came in an hour ago. Everyone in Stormhold got an alert,” Victoria says. “I took a few blips trying to find you. Had to Travel onto the Muntjac and then walk off the deck. But this changes a few things—you can’t go back to Filmore. Police will be on the lookout for you.”

“Actually,” Fen says and looks to Margo for support. I was thinking of going to your headquarters. Or somewhere else in Filmore, I don’t know where she is.”

“Her mother,” Margo explains. “Freya? I told her about her. We were hoping we could find her first. Is there a chance the Crater can take us in?”

“Oh, perfect,” Victoria says. “I was about to tell you this. Kady says it’s best if you hide with the Wolfs for a bit. We’ll sort things out today—you’re flying back with the Muntjac, right? Eliot and the guys can come, too.”

“Sounds like the only place we can go,” Margo agrees.

“Of course.” Victoria takes back the tablet from Fen and holds it in hand. “Think the guys will be pissed if I wake them up early?”

Margo shrugs. “We need to get a move on. They’ll live.”

With a nod, Victoria blips away to Eliot’s cabin to alert everyone else about the change in plans. One hour later, Fen, Margo, and the guys embark the Muntjac—once again invisible from view as it takes flight— and set the course for Shark Bay on the north coast of Stormhold, Quentin in tow. Josh is not the only fugitive anymore.


	10. Mindscape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of past childhood neglect, and mentions of past minor character death.

_The Stormhold navy found Alice in the middle of the ocean, glowing on a piece of driftwood. Though unconscious, she was still breathing, kept afloat by what the officers considered to be a miracle. When she woke up hours later, she asked about Charlie, who had sailed the ocean with her on the stolen ship._

_“You were in a shipwreck,” the naval officers said. They had only found Alice; it wasn’t hard to conclude she was the only survivor._

_Charlie had been the only magician, but Alice had tagged along. She’d snuck away with him at night because the only other choice was to stay with Stephanie. Maybe their mother had known how to love once, but losing her husband had turned her finicky and impossible to please. They were fleeing from bounty hunters, led by a man named Everett who could shapeshift himself as well as his bounties. It wasn’t the first time Everett called upon their neighborhood. Years ago, he had taken another magician girl, Victoria, who lived down the street. Rumor was she had tried to break out of the caravan and ended up killed._

_It was a cruel irony that Alice was the one who ended up in Stormhold, presented to the king the same way she would have been if she’d gone with the bounty hunters. She stood in the throne room, draped in an overcoat that belonged to the Captain of the ship that fished her out, still glowing. Alice had kept quiet while the king and his advisors decided her fate. For her manners and decorum, she was assigned to the princess as her lady-in-waiting._

_On her first night at Castle Blackspire, she lay awake in the dingy chamber underground that was her new home, wondering if she had stolen the magic from her brother, and saved her own life and left him to drown._

_Six weeks after Alice started working, she stopped calling Margo “Your Highness” at her request. They were eleven and twelve, and the princess declared they were to be friends. The sentiment was as wholesome as it was terrifying. All Alice wanted was to be seen and not heard._

_“I’ve been to your kingdom once,” Margo said. Alice was braiding her hair for a public appearance, twisting the strands into a half-up bun. “For a summit. We were in the capital—Oakenwell?”_

_“Oakenwall.” Alice froze when she realized she’d said it out loud._

_Through the reflection in the mirror, she saw Margo smiling. “Do you miss Brighthaven?”_

_Alice finished her hair, pinning black roses around the bun. She had missed Charlie more than she did her kingdom. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to grieve._

_“No, wait. Stupid question,” Margo turned around in her seat. It was the first time Alice looked her in the eye, and it happened by chance, too quickly for Alice to look away. “My father’s the reason you’re stuck here.”_

_Perhaps anyone else in Alice’s position would fantasize about running away. Alice hadn’t because there was no one to go back to. “It’s not your fault,” Alice said._

_They finished the rest of Margo’s preparations without talking. Tick called upon them, rapping on the bedroom door. Before Margo left, she turned off the lights, and Alice’s body brightened to illuminate the space. “Did you know you glow when you’re nice to me?”_

_“Sorry.”_

_Margo shook her head. “It’s pretty.”_

_When Margo returned later that night, Alice had tidied up her room. She waited at the door to say goodnight, but Margo asked if she could stay. It was the anniversary of Queen Samira’s death, and they spent the night on the balcony talking about mothers. Alice confided how she’d run away and how she was saved. She grieved for her brother, her mourning long overdue._

_“I don’t think you stole the magic from your brother,” Margo said. “I think the magic chose you so you could save yourself.”_

_Five years later, Victoria would recognize Alice from the news, standing in the background with other waitstaff at a banquet. She would find Alice at the castle, and Margo would let her go join the Wolfs. Alice hadn’t expected to think of Blackspire as home, but it had become that because of Margo._

* * *

The ride back to Stormhold is a quiet one, the news of Fen’s new status as a fugitive putting a damper to any excitement about finally seeing the Free Trader Beowulf Headquarters. Fen spends most of the daylight hours with Quentin and Josh, tending to the temperamental plants in the latter’s greenhouse. Eliot brings Margo into the simulation chamber with a picnic basket of sandwiches from the kitchen fridge and makes the backdrop look like Margo’s bedroom. Like old times, Margo listens to him ramble on about the human sunshine that is Quentin, this time mixed in with stories of his adventures in the other kingdoms. 

Eliot has a way of hyping up the most mundane stories, and Margo finds a nice escape in his tall tales while she offers wry comments as a means of contribution. Their only interruption is after lunch, when their conversation veers toward the hours of mental warding lessons Mayakovsky put them through so they could keep better secrets. This gives Margo an idea about Fen’s current predicament, and she asks Kady to find Penny and set her plan in motion. She will not allow Fen to be seized from her, but she will sleep easier, knowing Fen’s memories are secure. 

After eating dinner at the lounge during which Fen, Josh, and Quentin resurface from their gardening bearing freshly-baked scones, Margo sets up the meditation tents in the engine room to wait for Penny. Eliot and the boys excuse themselves and retreat back to their rooms after saying goodnight. Penny will blip himself in at half-past midnight as arranged, ready to assist in securing Fen’s memories from other psychics. 

The prospect of venturing into Fen’s mind makes Margo nervous, more so since Fen is so willing to let her in if it means protecting her friends. As Mayakovsky’s student, Margo is no stranger to wards. There are wards around Stormhold that hide its citizens away from the rest of the world, and there are wards within the walls of private residences. The fact that Margo’s old teacher is a psychic himself has made her hyper-vigilant about securing her own premises—not the external barriers protecting her from harm, but the ones inside her memory that keep her secrets buried. 

Then, there are people like Fen and Eliot, who open up to strangers within a two-hour limit upon a first meeting. Even if their minds are warded, it doesn’t take a detective to decode the emotions displayed so clearly across their face. Margo wants to shelter away people like them. She had done just that with Eliot when they were younger, sealing their secrets in secured vaults disguised within the structures of superficial memories. They have worn enhancement charms to secure their mental wards. This has worked until she has shattered the charms to save Eliot’s life.

Fen, sitting quietly by the trunk that holds the Muntjac’s heart, looks on curiously with none of the apprehension Margo feels. 

Two purple chiffon tents drape from the mezzanine rails, heavily layered and opaque from the outside. Under the gentle glow from the heart, the fabric is lustrous and silky. Margo secures the tip of the tents with ropes tied to the vertical bars of the rails and lets the fabric hang down naturally. The opening of the tents face each other, and inside each tent are cushions designed to be sat on for hours. In the interior, hanging from the tip of the tent, are seven more crystals like the one around Fen’s neck, shaped like teardrops and dangling from their own chains like a tiny chandelier. 

“There’s still time to back out if you change your mind,” Margo says after everything is done.

“I won’t,” Fen assures her. “If this keeps everyone safe, I’ll do it.”

“There’s one more thing. Stay still.”

Margo pulls out the necklace from her pocket. Her mother had gifted it to keep her safe, but Mira doesn’t know how many years Margo spent mastering the magic of mental warding. By now, Margo’s secrets are safe with or without the aid of an amplifier. There is no better recipient than the person she had met by the unlikeliest coincident, who she has come to see as a friend.

Fen stays standing, and Margo walks behind her and slings her arms over Fen’s shoulders. She fastens the chain that holds the colorless crystal, faceted into a perfect heptagon. Fen’s skin is warm beneath her fingers, but Margo doesn’t let her touch linger, and lets go of the delicate chain. Once worn, the chain and the charm disappear from sight, fading into Fen’s skin.

“What’s the occasion?” Fen asks. She lifts the charm with her fingers to examine it. Upon her touch, the charm reflects a fraction of red light from the Muntjac’s heart.

“It’s a backup for the ward. Helps strengthen your defense.”

Fen’s eyes travel to Margo’s neck. Margo knows what she’s searching for. Her neck is bare of any chains, a fact she lets Fen figure out right here as they speak.

“I’m guessing you don’t need one?”

“Not anymore.” Margo continues before she can tell herself to stop, “I had one when I was a girl.”

“What happened to it?”

Fen will remember what Margo said to her on their way to the Neitherlands. She had asked if Margo had killed a man, and Margo had more or less admitted to doing the deed. If that had freaked Fen out, Fen wouldn’t be here now, waiting for Margo to enter her fucking memories like it’s just a Tuesday. 

“I had to sacrifice it,” Margo admits. “To save Eliot.”

Whatever questions Fen has in mind, she doesn’t voice them, thankfully. Margo doesn’t need another reminder that she’s putting all her friends in danger when two years ago, she had let them get away, so they never had to choose between their princess and their freedom. Once the Muntjac takes everyone to the Wolfs Headquarters, Margo will have plenty of hours to beat herself up over her stupid decision to drag everyone back into her bullshit.

“Thank you,” Fen says. She opens her arms, asking for a hug, which Margo walks into. “For the charm, and for trusting me with your secrets.”

“Don’t talk to me about feelings again.” Margo leans into the hug, hiding her smile past Fen’s shoulder. “It’s insulting.”

* * *

Penny acts as a quiet guide once the sound of his voice fades from Margo’s awareness. His presence blends into the periphery of Fen’s mind when he brings Margo in, and he stays quiet when observing the landscape, keeping his thoughts contained for his own knowledge.

Casting a mental ward on oneself is easy; casting another person requires the magician to enter the recipient’s mind. Mayakovsky had done it in Margo’s mind when she was little, but as a non-psychic, Margo requires a psychic’s guidance to have access to do the same for Fen. Margo walks through the village with a hazy focus, unable to take in the details of street signs or the exact faces of the people she passes by—Penny, after years of practice, can resist his magic’s temptation of zooming in. 

Margo and Fen share a meditation tent, sitting cross-legged with their knees touching, while Penny faces them in the other tent. During the guided meditation, Fen reaches for Margo’s hand while she pictures the village of Wall, her home. Margo gives in when she feels her consciousness drifting away from the engine room of the Muntjac. Fen’s touch is warm, and Margo notes the sensation as she brings an image of herself inside the place in Fen’s mind. Casting magic requires intent, and Margo, despite all her denial, is aware that her feelings for Fen are different than the affection she has for Eliot. The first time they had sparred and Fen had tossed her child’s play knife at her, Margo had known she was in deep shit. 

Thinking about the knife triggers something in Fen’s imagination of her home. Margo finds herself gliding across the street like she’s hovering in the air before she stops by a storefront. The storefront reveals itself to Margo like Fen is thinking about it slowly and intently—Penny must be droning on in the external world, using the classic meditation tactic of asking endless questions about this place that’s close to Fen’s heart. 

_The Forge._

This is the first secret Fen wants Margo to protect. Margo phases inside the shop and recognizes Fen’s handiwork on display. A set of daggers with sunstones embedded at the hilt hang from a shelf on the wall. The handles are hand-carved with gentle hatches for a better grip. On the far side of the room is an old-fashioned fireplace made of bricks with a cooling tank beside it, an archaic setup compared to the modern look of the knife displays and the hardware around the room. Two workstations sit on opposite sides, one of which is occupied by a girl in a purple dress, who sits perched on the high stool with a mallet in hand with her back to Margo. It’s sunset already, and little Fen is in here alone. 

Someone knocks on the door. Little Fen hops off her seat and lets in a blond boy with a basket of pastries. Margo doesn’t recognize Josh without his glasses; it’s his dorky eye-crinkling smile that gives him away. Then Josh starts changing and growing into the man Margo knows now. 

Margo recognizes the strategy: if she has to set up a ward around specific structures in Fen’s mind, Penny must have instructed her to place someone important inside it—someone who has a deep connection to Fen’s memories surrounding the Forge. This phantom Josh represents everything Fen remembers about the real Josh. All Margo has to do is seal him in where psychic intruders can’t find him.

Margo’s own image in this space is invisible to the people directly involved in the memory. Little Fen grows up in front of Margo, too, from a dedicated girl to the suave knife expert of today. More phantom-like representations of Fen and Josh fill the corners of this room, blipping in and out, each time appearing a different age like they’re time-traveling. Fen is bringing in a montage of their growing friendship starting from the day he showed her kindness, until Josh’s figure vanishes, leaving Fen alone again.

_She’s finished,_ Penny thinks, giving Margo the go-signal to set up the ward. 

Turning away from the last fragment of Fen, Margo traces a sequence of runes in the air, then disperses them across various corners of the Forge. She binds between the runes to form an interconnected web that weaves throughout the interior of the space. Though all magicians can cast universal spells in runes, the Language of the Gods, not many cares to study this subset of magic after the Gods had left this world. Many families rely on certified mental ward-smiths to set up their wards when it comes to home protection. However, Mayakovsky had insisted that Margo learned the old ways so she can take what she needs, valuable lessons in self-preservation that others won’t expect.

When the ward is done, Penny senses the completion and brings Margo back out onto the streets. Margo’s vision is clearer now, and she sees surveillance bots swarming above her and the thicket of trees that mark the woods to the west of the village. Too quickly, she drifts toward the woods before turning to face a house sitting by the edge of it. This house is painted cream white with ivy climbing up the sides, its entrance marked by a blue door. Every house on the street looks similarly quaint and rudely colonized by technology like the bots overhead. 

Again, Margo phases through the closed door into a living room, then into a workshop at the back where she sees a broad man with dark hair and a scruffy beard standing by the window. A teenaged Fen is sitting by the computer in the corner, glaring at him with her arms crossed. The man says something in defense, and Fen snaps back, her face hardened with a bitterness that Margo doesn’t recognize on the gentle-hearted woman she has come to know.

Margo looks away from both the father and daughter, not wanting to confront the disheartened rage that echoes through a memory she can’t understand but feels all the same. Thank fuck Penny is the psychic here, the one who has to hear the words of the conversation. All Margo has to see is the result of Fen’s meditative efforts to contain all her memories of her dad into their house where he can stay secure. 

Turning elsewhere, Margo comes face-to-face with a portrait on the wall, mounted beside the pegboard full of tools. A small girl, riding on the shoulders of the scruffy-bearded man currently standing in this room; a woman standing beside them with brown hair bunched in a low messy bun and a dab of soot on her nose, grinning and offering the girl a high-five. This was Fen’s family before the Couple took her mother away, and for some reason, Fen has let Margo see the photo in detail. 

Margo recognizes the man arguing with Fen as Fen’s father, unchanged except for the dark circles behind tired eyes, the aftermath of spending years without his wife. Unlike with Josh, Margo lets Fen and her father go through the time-lapse without her watching. All she needs to do is wait until the memories are complete.

_Do it now,_ Penny instructs after what feels like forever. Margo starts setting up the ward again, grateful for the interruption. 

The third and last place that requires warding is a larger three-story building between a busy marketplace and a quiet residential area near the woods. Before Margo phases into this building, she catches her own reflection in the window, the way she presents in Fen’s mind. She appears as she does at seventeen, in light armor with her hair braided in a top knot. Being the leader of her own Centurion Guards had been one of the best memories of her life.

Something about this museum is different. Certain details elude Margo as she wanders her way in, such as the labels of every display she tries to read, even when they are clear to her only a moment earlier. Every door she opens leads to a dead-end or another turn, paths that don’t make sense with the rectangular schematics of the building. She doesn’t find any stairs. Instead, she gets pushed through the floors until she ascends to the top—Fen must be bringing her straight to the room that needs warding.

There must be rendezvous for the Free Trader Beowulf in Filmore, but Margo hasn’t expected any of them to be magically protected. She recognizes the handiwork of an experienced illusionist. Fen’s involvement with magic is deeper than Margo expects. 

The moment Margo thinks this, she finds herself standing in a room with a glass dome that looks overhead to the sky. Margo doesn’t recall seeing the dome from the outside, probably another illusion. It’s dark out, and the room is lit by only a candle. Fen is sitting at the flame with another woman who is reading from a parchment scroll. The woman hovers her hands over the flame, staring intensely as she traces a rune in the air that intensifies it. She touches the rune and releases the command, and the fire obeys her and rises.

She has magic, and her raw strength is undeniable. The force of her power startles her as well as Fen, but while the woman is apprehensive about trying again, Fen is beaming. With another wave of her hand, the woman puts the fire out. Margo sees Fen reach for her hand by the faint light from the moon through the skylight, only for her to pull away.

When the sky turns to daylight, a younger version of Fen and the girl lie on their stomach underneath the dome, sharing a book. Fen takes her eyes off the book to sneak glances at her friend, who hides a smile while pretending not to notice the stares. Then the girls travel through time like the iterations of Josh and Fen’s father had done. Margo watches them fall in love and realizes the woman’s name. _Julia_. 

Margo begins tracing runes when Penny gives her the cue and takes in Julia’s appearance. The small frame of her body, taut with muscles from years of running and hunting. Wavy hair that brushes past her waist when she stands on tip-toes and tilts her head up to kiss Fen. She is as beautiful as Margo fears, but the memories are fogged by an overwhelming loss.

The pain from that loss worsens when Julia vanishes after Margo completes the ward. Fen is in the room alone now, sitting under the dome and hugging her knees to her chest while she cries. Margo lays a hand on Fen’s shoulder. Somehow she feels the touch in real life, too.

* * *

Fen stays like this, Margo’s hand on her shoulder, until the memory fades into the purple tent draped overhead and the faint thumping of the Muntjac’s heart, its rhythm in tandem with Margo’s heartbeats. Margo hasn’t realized she had moved behind Fen while they meditated, to touch her like she’d done in her mind. The crystals dangling from the tip of the tent are glowing a bright white, signifying the intensity of their mental warding session. 

Peering through the opening of the tent, Margo catches Penny’s eye. He nods and mouths a quick “night” before he travels away. 

“Did I see too much?” Margo asks gently, letting go of Fen’s shoulder. 

Fen forces back her unshed tears. “Nothing I wouldn’t have told you eventually.”

“I think it’s brave.”

“What?”

There’s no need to reiterate what Margo saw. Fen had revealed the memories willingly, but whether she wants Margo to offer condolences or react somehow, Margo doesn’t know. For now, Margo lets go of her the questions about the museum and Julia—Julia, who once lay underneath the glass dome and held Fen’s hand, and looked at Fen like she’s brighter than the stars above. 

Instead, Margo brings up the one thing Fen had zoomed in deliberately. “I would’ve cut a bitch before I let someone see my old family portrait,” she says.

That makes Fen laugh.

“Listen,” Margo continues, “I’m not going to interrogate you or anything, but if there’s stuff you want to share…”

Fen nods and doesn’t say anything for a while. Margo stays in her spot, hoping to Prometheus that Fen isn’t falling asleep on her. Finally, Fen breaks the silence, “My dad, he—got involved with some bad people. He got obsessed with finding my mom. Really obsessed. He spent years searching for leads. At first, it was police reports, missing persons… I was happy to help him when I was little, but I couldn’t say I missed her. I don’t remember my mom much, you know? I was four when the Couple took her. I guess I liked the idea of finding her ‘cause I thought my dad wouldn’t be happy ‘till she’s home.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Josh and Jules have been telling me for years. Took me a while to admit it to myself.”

Margo pulls her closer, slinging her arm across Fen’s back.

“The Deserters covered up their tracks better than that, of course. Eventually, I gave up. I started school, and the kids were paranoid about me. They’d act perfectly friendly, but they weren’t great actors. My village isn’t one of those places people visit. The authorities left us alone, and so did the magicians, until the Deserters came by for my mom. It freaked everyone out.”

“Josh wasn’t your friend back then?”

“He didn’t move here ‘till I was eleven when the Hobermans adopted him. He was hiding his own magic back then. I spent a lot of time with my teacher, Fogg—crazy dude, kind of hard to understand sometimes, with all his weird theories. But he hands shit to us straight. He doesn’t do any of that ‘redacted-history nonsense’. His words.”

“He sounds like Mayakovsky.”

“He knew Mayakovsky. He was a magic-scholar of some kind himself. But he decided he didn’t want to end up under house-arrest in your castle, so he moved to a small village, got a new name, the whole makeover.”

Margo chuckles. “I can’t believe you were a teacher’s pet.”

Fen huffs and pretends to be offended. “Anyway, that was my childhood. The older I got, the more my dad started disappearing. At first, he’d go out of the house and come back around my bedtime. I thought he was just doing work stuff. He’s an engineer. Or, he used to be. He’d take commissions, build home-security robots, that kind of project. 

“Except at some point, he stopped taking on work from his regulars. He started making reckless inventions, stuff he’d take to the black market. I didn’t know ‘till our electricity got shut off that we were broke. That’s when I started going to the Forge. It was my mom’s workshop once. She used magic, but the metals and techniques were the same. I taught myself to make knives. They sell pretty well.”

“That’s shitty that your dad dumped all this on you.”

Fen gives her a smile as a way of thanks. “The neighbors helped. Well, the ones who weren’t looking at us like we were ticking bombs. The Hobermans were always good to me. They ran a bakery down the street from their cottage, and I was crashing at their place half the time before they adopted Josh, so when he came, _he_ started bugging me at the Forge.”

“Did he win you over with pastries?”

“Maybe. He taught me how to cook, too. And I also had Harriet. She owned the museum I showed you.”

“Harriet Schiff? Like, Zelda’s daughter?”

Margo has known Harriet worked with Fen in Wolfs business—Alice has told her the first night she’d met Fen—but now she understands how vital Harriet is in Fen’s life. 

“That’s the one. You sensed Harriet’s illusions, right? In my mind?” 

Fen pulls away to lie her head down on the seat cushions bundled inside the tent. She sticks her leg out of the tent opening, then tugs Margo’s arm until Margo gives in to lie down beside her.

“I did. She used it on her displays,” Margo recalls. 

“She used it on the whole village. We’re pretty much impossible for outsiders to find now, unless we bring someone in, but if they leave, they can’t come back unless… you know. Harriet moved to Wall when I was ten because she heard what happened to my mom. You could say the Wolfs found _us_ , not the other way around. A year later, Josh showed up, and when I was thirteen, Julia jumped off a Reclamationist caravan and joined us.”

“Did your dad know any of this?”

“I was going to tell him about the Wolfs, but he was hard to track down. That time we argued, I was waiting for him to come back to his workshop to tell him that mom escaped from the Couple, and Harriet got me in touch with her. But my dad left his computer on that day. When I was in the workshop, I saw his messages pop up on the screen. He got involved with some underground people. Do you know about the FU fighters?”

“I’ve heard of them,” Margo says.

The Filmorians United, or “FU fighters”, was established around six years ago when Margo was fifteen. Back then, the Order of Reclamations had been given special clearance by Queen Ru to continue their bounty-hunting operations in her kingdom despite their open status as magicians themselves. Most people in Filmore had been cautiously optimistic about the Reclamationists, glad that there would be fewer magicians lurking about their land. The FU fighters, on the other hand, openly rejected the Queen’s agenda to enable the lesser evil.

The Stormhold Gazette initially treated the Filmorians United as a joke. The organization had started as a band of anti-magic teenagers marching the streets in protest, led by a charismatic young man named Baylor. They had demanded that Everett Rowe be exiled from the kingdom, even if his work as a bounty hunter ensures that the kingdom is free of most magicians. Shit got real when Queen Ru was assassinated by the FU fighters, leaving no heir to the throne. 

President Emmett McAllister won the election as the first leader of the Republic. He is Irene’s biological father—their shared last name makes the connection obvious—but he has only ever acknowledged having two sons. Irene resembles Emmett in looks as well as temperament. The only difference is that while Emmett openly detests magicians, Irene relishes her gifts. So Emmett banished Everett from Filmore like the FU fighters wanted. Some journalists suspect the president had an alliance with these extremists, forged from a shared hatred of magicians.

“Some of my dad’s contacts were FU fighters,” Fen says. “I confronted dad when he got home, and he told me the FU fighters had good intel about the people crossing the border, since they’re on the lookout for Reclamationists. He said he didn’t believe in their sentiment, but he did what he had to do.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“I held off on telling him about mom. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hide this from him—he deserved to know, being her husband. Then he left that night and didn’t come back. The longest he’d been gone before was two weeks, but this time I thought he was leaving me.”

“Was he?” Margo asks.

“He came back in three weeks. Stayed a week. Left again. Same thing as always.”

Margo scoffs.

“I was sixteen when my dad ran into the wrong people,” Fen continues. “He never told me what he was up to, so I didn’t know where it happened, but one of his contacts got him in touch with this Traveler, Gavin? And Gavin had this psychic girl with him. She called herself Oblivion, and she fucked up my dad’s memories. Everything that had to do with my mom. Probably thought he was a loose end.”

Fen turns toward Margo instead of away. Margo inches closer. “That must’ve been hard.”

“It was for the best. He had gone too far. If he hadn’t been mind-wiped, he could’ve gotten himself killed. What happened to him was still unfair, but you know.” She shrugs.

“I get it,” Margo says. “Well. At least now I know where Gavin went.”

“Were you looking for him?”

“Not specifically, but my team and I kept tabs on the Couple, and Gavin was supposed to be part of their inner circle. He vanished when I was around fifteen, not long after your Queen died and Filmore turned into a republic. Guess he decided to take a vacation there.”

“If only I knew you back then,” Fen muses.

“If only. I think you could’ve done a fine job as one of my Centurion Guards.”

“Even without magic?”

“I think,” Margo says, “sticking all magicians in one kingdom forces everyone to pick sides, and all that does is stir shit up.”

“That’s very wise, Your Highness.”

Margo glares. “I’ll let the formality slide because you’re upset.”

“Now who’s talking about feelings?”

“Shut up.”

Fen flashes a cheeky grin. “Can I ask you something? Nothing to do with feelings. Promise.”

With a sigh, Margo turns to lie on her back and face the ceiling, silently giving in.

“You said you and your team were keeping an eye on Gavin. What about Oblivion?”

“She was a fucking problem, too,” Margo says. “Her real name is Anna. She was banished when I was ten. She tried to kidnap me, but she got caught.”

“No wonder she was in Filmore. Guess she could be anywhere by now.”

Margo frowns, reminded of the whole reason Fen now has to ward her mind. If Anna has drilled into Fen’s father’s head deep enough to erase most memories of his wife, she must know about Fen’s existence. As the daughter of a former Deserter _and_ someone who will notice her father’s memory loss, Fen is a target in the eyes of the Deserters. With the village of Wall shielded by Harriet’s illusions, and Fen protected within it, the Deserters need an incentive to lure Fen out.

“She might find _us_ ,” Margo says. “I think she’s the one who made you a wanted felon.”

“Yeah, sounds like something she’d do.” Fen closes her eyes. “Fuck all this.”

“Our lives are all shitshows. Join the club,” Margo mumbles, her eyelids growing heavy as the exhaustion from lack of sleep lures her in.

The crystals dangling from the top of the tent are beginning to lose their glow, releasing the pent-up energy from the warding session. Margo finds no reason to resist sleep with the lights dimmed and Fen snuggled up by her side. She is vaguely aware that Eliot will see her like this the next morning, sleeping on the floor next to Fen with their heads tucked beneath a tent, but she can’t bring herself to give a fuck. 

* * *

When Margo wakes up the next morning, the engine room is awash in bright sunlight. There is a fluffy blanket draped over her and Fen that wasn’t there the night before. More importantly, Margo has turned to face Fen at some point during the night and gravitated toward her, close enough to feel the rise and fall of Fen’s chest as her companion sleeps on. 

Two important things come to mind, and Margo doesn’t know which one she should fret over: that she had slept through the sunrise for the first time in two years, or that at some point, she and Fen were spotted snuggling up all cozy-like on the floor by whoever gave them the blanket. Either way, Margo can’t deny that last night made her realize how curious she is about Fen’s life. And the fact that she wants to give Fen’s father a piece of her mind after two conversations about the guy is… troublesome. 

But fuck troubles. Fen is still sleeping soundly next to her. Whatever Margo wants to do will have to wait. Eliot’s itinerary says the Muntjac will dock at Shark Bay at mid-morning, ready to be pulled into the Wolfs Headquarters, and Margo wants to spend their remaining time en route in quiet company. Which is why she’s still here, staring at Fen, not walking into the lounge to have breakfast with Eliot and the boys.

The Muntjac’s heart quickens its beats, its pulsing glow calling bullshit to Margo’s claim when Eliot cannot. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Margo mutters in response.

The sound of her voice stirs Fen from her dreams. Fen blinks open her eyes and greets Margo with a confused grunt. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“I was not.”

“How long have you been up?”

“Not long.”

“O-kay,” Fen says after a too-long pause. She sits up and stares at the blanket in her lap, then back at Margo, then flips the blanket off herself. “You were warm, did you know?”

“Because of the blanket?”

“No. _You_.”

The cacodemon stirs under Margo’s skin on her back, reminding her of the excess heat sealed into her fourteen years ago that she’d grown used to. “Oh. It’s the cacodemon.”

“It feels nice.”

Margo responds by holding out a hand to help Fen up. Fen accepts the hand with a satisfied smirk. They walk to a porthole by the side of the engine room and stare out at the clouds, neither of them compelled to hurry out and join the boys. If Margo’s cheeks are flushed in Fen’s company, she blames the morning sun.

The Muntjac descends to the ocean when land is in view, too soon after Margo and Fen take down the meditation tents and pack everything up for storage. Beyond the cliffside where Eliot had picked up Margo and Fen three days earlier, there is a port bustling with merchants at the seaside. Shark Bay greets the Muntjac without alerting the business owners, the fish merchants crammed alongside craftspeople spinning ropes for netting and nylon sailcloths. Busy areas are ideal locations for illusion magic, which is why the Free Trader Beowulf chose dock number twenty as a rendezvous. 

A skinny man in a suit stands at the docks and watches the Muntjac pull in before tapping his earpiece and reporting back to whoever is on the line. Lovelady, also known as Pete, is the designated lookout around the rendezvous. As a once-conniving street kid who scammed his way out of trouble, Pete is a natural at blending in among street merchants. He runs his own shop on the quieter edge of the seaside as a front, selling whimsical trinkets to unsuspecting civilians and shamelessly flirting with the prettiest of them regardless of gender.

Margo, Fen, and the boys wait inside the chart room as Eliot instructs. Pete strolls onto the dock and into their view, and gives them a wink. The Muntjac, previously floating in the water unanchored, meets resistance from the bottom—a platform rising from the seabed. Fen’s eyes widen in alarm, but Margo shakes her head. After the ship relinquishes control and settles itself onto the solid platform, it sinks underwater.

There is a large cavern leading deep into the underground, past the seaside marketplace and through the cliffside boulder. A metal hatch unlocks itself and shifts to the right like a sliding door, allowing the Muntjac to travel into the dark tunnel. Glowing crystals are embedded into the ceiling of the tunnel, lining up to point ships on the right path. Each segment of the tunnel is separated by a hatch. The tunnel is not straight, but curves up and down, branching off at intersections to divert the seawater. 

Three hatches later, Eliot receives a call on the tablet fastened to the chart room wall by a frame. Though technology is integrated throughout the ship, communication devices usually stay dormant on sections above the dock and run on solar energy gathered during the ship’s daytime flights. A hologram of Pete steps out after Eliot types in his command code to unlock the screen. 

“I see we have V.I.P.’s on board.” Pete gestures to Margo and Fen. “Your Highness. Fen of Filmore. First time visiting?”

Fen waves at Pete, recognizing him from the dock earlier. Margo suppresses the eye roll that Pete no longer deserves. No matter how many times she has asked Pete to drop the bullshit formality, he refuses to budge. She and Pete have met in person twice and communicated through the network every few months, but he still says _Your Highness_ to spite her. 

“Yes. But don’t bother with a tour,” Margo says, then looks at Fen. “We’ll find our way around.”

“Alright.” Pete relents, raising his hands. “I’ll be back to HQ by evening if you change your mind.”

“Thank you!” Fen calls out before Pete hangs up.

The last hatch opens, and the Muntjac moves through. There are no more crystals glowing overhead, only ripples of light above the water’s surface. The Muntjac sinks lower and settles onto another platform waiting at the bottom.

“See, Margo?” Eliot steps up and pats Fen on the shoulder as the ship rises out of the water. “Someone’s got manners.” 


	11. The Crater

_Ten minutes before Josh was captured, he was making a pun about pastries in the driver’s seat of a Wolfs delivery van. Fen and Julia, who still had a few months before they could turn eighteen and get their own license, were in the backseat, bickering about a pheasant caught in their hunter’s trap that morning._

_The mission was supposed to be uneventful, reasonably routine, even for three teenage operatives. Harriet had assigned it specifically to keep Fen and her friends out of trouble. The village of Steepbrook, forty-minute drive west of Wall, had been raided by an unidentified dozen of Reclamationists. They had come in search of one alleged magician, a child who was hiding out at a family’s barn. Whoever sent the intel had been wildly misinformed—there was a child in the next province who the Wolfs had to relocate, but Steepbrook had nothing to do with this fugitive._

_Fen stopped in the middle of their passionate debate over roast pigeons when the village came into view, and Julia fell silent beside her. As much as Fen’s opinion on magic diverged from the opinions perpetuated by Filmore’s majority, the sight of demolished houses and uprooted trees still left a bitter taste in her mouth._

_“Unbelievable,” Julia said, rolling down a window. The village looked abandoned, though it sounded like people still lived here, chattering among themselves in the dark._

_“No streetlights,” Josh said. He inched forward in his seat, pressing his forehead against the windshield for a better look. “Power must’ve gone out.”_

_Fen checked the map that the Wolfs had sent them during their drive. “The warehouse is just down the road over the next intersection, by the park.”_

_It had been four days since the Reclamationists attacked, three days since the Wolfs had sent their last round of supplies. Usually, the raids were more contained, in-and-out before the authorities could arrive. But that was only in towns and cities near the capital. Here, in the middle of nowhere, it was unlikely that anyone in the nation had heard about the raid at all. Any news about the Reclamationists was silenced, swept under the rug to protect President McAllister’s heroic image._

_They found the warehouse by its silhouette, referencing the photo that the Wolfs sent along with the map. It was three stories tall and industrial-looking, a jarring contrast to the family cottages made of wood. Josh parked the van in front and turned off the engine, but before they could open the trunk and unload the supplies, they heard a scream from the park, its source hidden behind trees. “Help! Anyone? Please! Over here!”_

_Without asking, they made a beeline for the park on foot. Fen messaged Harriet from her wristband to request backup, the application converting her voice to text as she ran. They found a caravan over the grass in the park, its wheels digging dirt tracks through the pristine lawn. A girl’s head was visible through the small window on the back door. She pounded on the metal desperately and called for help again before her voice was silenced mid-scream._

_They didn’t see the man until he climbed into the tow car to drive the caravan away. He must have cast illusions on himself—Fen could feel the air thicken with the fizzle of energy running through it. As the engine revved, Josh raised the blades of grass on the lawn beneath. The grass grappled the wheel and held down the car, and Fen picked the lock of the caravan open with a switchblade. Fen hoisted the girl out, but before she could run, someone lifted her off her feet and levitated her in midair. Gripping the little girl’s hand tight, Fen pushed against the hold of the telekinetic—wherever they were—to try and find her friends._

_“Josh!” Julia shouted._

_The telekinetic broke their hold over Fen. She landed and saw a second masked figure levitate Josh away along with the caravan driver. The little girl they freed ran toward the captors, trying to help Josh, but they were too fast. With Josh strapped to the telekinetic’s back, his mouth gagged by a strip of cloth, Fen couldn’t throw her knife in case she hit him. As the trio moved further away, the caravan driver tossed a silver marble into the air, which expanded into a spherical hovercraft. They climbed inside and were gone within seconds._

_The last memory Fen had of Josh was his panicked eyes before his captors shoved him into the flying sphere. It was an invention Fen recognized from her father’s lab, a prototype he’d invented two years ago that he had evidently improved upon in secret. A brilliant invention sold into the hands of people who ruined lives._

* * *

The Muntjac rises out of an aquifer in an underground crypt. Eliot introduces the place as the Trickster Vaults, initially installed by a Trickster God named Aengus, who tunneled the earth to mimic the streets above ground. The tunnels are connected to the towns and cities above by manholes, from which a person can emerge to terrify random pedestrians.

Fen hears the full history of the Trickster Vaults while the Muntjac glides on the surface of shallower water to bring everyone to the Free Trader Beowulf’s Headquarters: as a final prank before he left this world with his fellow God-siblings, Aengus had placed all manholes under heavy illusion charms that help them blend in with the streets and make them undetectable. Large sections of this underground crypt collapsed during the War, caught between the crossfire of the non-magic armed forces and the magicians. Luckily, a large section of the vault remains in pristine condition, starting from a broad valley in the middle of Stormhold called the Crater and leading out to shores up north. Discovering this place, the perfect hideout, gave Sheila and Zelda the final push to leave Everett and the Reclamationists.

Twenty minutes later, the Muntjac docks inside a cavern that marks the entrance to Wolfs HQ. A gate closes the cavern and blends into the surrounding stones, protecting the ship from intruders. Fen can’t remember which ways the Muntjac turned to arrive here; her mind begins to grow fuzzy when she tries to recite the route in a sequence. The crystals around the crypt stop glowing and fade back to their original color—milky white and opaque with gray swirls, like a fog. An entryway opens from the wall in front of everyone when they step out onto the dock. Inside the opening is a spiraling staircase with old-fashioned torches lined up on the wall, providing the only light source in the dark tunnel.

A woman with curly black hair steps out from the shadows and greets the visitors with a slight incline of her head. Her green eyes fix on Fen and widen in recognition, then she turns to Margo and smiles. She places her hands on the edge of the wall opening and slides it off to the side, widening the berth for everyone to step in. No tracks or thresholds line up the doorframe; the walls part themselves by magic’s command.

“Welcome to HQ. Also known as The Crater,” the woman says.

“Are you Asmodeus?” Fen guesses. She follows everyone inside and watches the walls slide close behind her without visible cracks in the concrete.

Asmodeus’ reputation as a terramancer precedes her, despite the nature of her strength as a literal underground driving force. Many Wolf operatives have heard tales of her burrowing through tough boulders without wrecking their foundations, like she was born from the earth and has learned to beckon it to her will. In person, Asmodeus looks younger than Fen expects, serious but with a shred of dry humor, judging by the teasing turn of her lips.

“You can call me Kady now. You’ve earned it.”

“I’m Fen.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Kady shakes Fen’s hand with a firm grip. She’s wearing a wristband with a small screen, similar to the standard-issue device everyone wears in Filmore. Following Kady’s lead, everyone heads upstairs. Margo walks alongside Fen, hanging back from Eliot and the boys, who are taking two steps at a time and racing past Kady. 

“Men.” Kady rolls her eyes at their antics. She waits for Fen and Margo while the boys barge through the door up ahead.

Margo tuts her tongue in agreement. “Is Zelda okay? I know Everett raided her shop.”

“Yeah, she got out,” Kady says. “Noticed trouble was coming and hitched a ride with some operatives passing by Ogygia. She’ll be back here later.”

“Okay.”

“Pete said you two don’t want a tour,” Kady adds, “but how about a private conference?”

“With who?” Margo asks.

Her answer is waiting for her when Kady unlocks the steel door leading to the interior of the headquarters. A long hallway stretches ahead with locked rooms on both sides. Inside the rooms, people in blue suits with full facial masks conduct magical experiments, pulling a pulsing essence of yellow light out of vines or watching a hologram of a dove fade itself into its surroundings before coming to full view again. In front of another set of doors, at the end of the hall, is a woman in a floral blouse and black pencil skirt, her ash-blonde hair straight and impeccably neat.

“Margo!” All primness from this woman disappears when she recognizes who Kady has brought in. Margo gasps, but whatever she wants to say is cut short as the woman sprints across the hall and lunges herself at Margo, pulling her into a big hug. “I’ve missed you.”

Margo visibly relaxes at the contact. “Alice.”

Alice’s grin widens. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Margo says.

“ _Hi_ ,” Kady interrupts and pats Fen on the shoulder, “this is Fen.”

“Hi! Oh, I’m sorry.” Alice pulls away from Margo and shakes Fen’s hand. “I’m Alice. It’s great to finally meet. We heard you were coming—the Wolfs in Filmore spoke highly of you.”

“You’re too kind,” Fen says. 

Alice waves off the compliment and lets Kady lead their guests to a dining area. Kady introduces the place as Mess Hall, but the floor is clean enough to reflect the overhead lights. Two long tables line the sides of the room with stacks of plates on one end and chafing dishes filled with large servings of food. The room is half-full, filled with quiet but animated chatter. Mess Hall is a buffet-style dining place, though instead of rectangular tables meant for large groups, the Wolfs sit in pairs or threes in round cafe-like tables. At the other end of the room is the exit door, and above it, a loft accessible by ladders with yellow walls and bean bag chairs and pillows in the corners.

Fen and everyone walks through Mess Hall without stopping, then step into a conference room across the hall that looks utilitarian and gray. Shelves of the same gray color line the room like they were built into the drywall, but they hold electronic gadgets and books without caving under the weight. It’s only when Kady places her hands on a rack and pulls the shelf open like a door that Fen realizes the wall is formed from the earth itself, all gray pebbles and stones molded into straight lines by Kady’s magic.

The space behind this secret entrance hits Fen by surprise. She has expected every part of the Crater to be like the labs by the entry, sterile with closed steel doors and polished marble floors and indicator lights buzzing people in and out. The sight in front of her can’t be any more different. The walls are pastel green, complemented by dark brown wooden floors and matching doors and frames. At the far right is a small kitchen and a lounge, both of which contain a comfortable degree of clutter. Along the left side are hallways branching off to living areas. Hand-decorated nameplates hang on each door, and the air smells like fresh flowers and buttered pastries. 

Inside a secret bunker buried beneath the earth, somehow, this place reminds Fen of home.

Kady says this living quarter is the Cozener Wing, named after Sheila, who picked up Penny and Pete among other street kids and gave them a better life playing vigilante superheroes. Alice tells Fen and Margo that their rooms are at the end of the first hall, and they are cleared to wander the Cozener Wing without guidance. Fen isn’t sure what “cleared” means, but she suspects there are illusions in place to throw off intruders. On her way to her room, Fen passes a door with an “Alice & Kady” sign in cursive penmanship. Margo pauses before quickly walking past with a gentle smile lingering on her face.

“We’ll give you two hours to settle in. Lunch at twelve sharp.” Alice opens Fen’s door for her. Kady lets Margo into her room nearby.

Fen’s room is equipped with a small wardrobe, a nightstand, a desk, and an ensuite bathroom. The bed smells like fresh linen. With a satisfied grunt, Fen lays herself down on the bed. “It feels like home. Thanks again for having us.”

Alice chuckles, peering down to see Fen’s face. “It’s no problem. Some of us have lived here for years by ourselves. We’re happy to have guests.”

“I’m going to sleep through our lunch meeting,” Fen warns her.

“Don’t worry.” Alice turns to leave. “Kady will come get you.”

When the door shuts, Fen closes her eyes and sinks into the cottony heap of her mattress. Though the blankets on her bed are warm, and the room is the definition of cozy, Fen longs for something else: Margo lying by her side, facing her with a teasing glint in her eyes, the heat beneath her back intensifying with every quiet breath.

* * *

Kady comes to find Fen at twelve as promised and tells her to prepare for a trip in the afternoon. Lunch is a quiet affair, a small gathering between Fen, Margo, Alice, and Kady. Josh and the other guys are off to help with a pest problem on a vineyard in the town of Eldervalley. Though Fen expects the Wolfs in every kingdom to concern themselves with everyday affairs, she’s still surprised to hear about non-Deserter-related ventures.

“Deserters only stir shit up every few weeks,” Kady explains to Fen and takes a swig of black coffee. “And we don’t send the boys to deal with them anymore. Margo discharged them from Centurion Guard duties. We respect Her Majesty’s commands.”

Margo elbows Kady. “Hey. I’m not Her Majesty’s yet.”

“You’ll do great,” Alice says, dumping a concerning amount of sugar into her own coffee. “Oh, by the way, Marina said she’ll be back this evening.”

“Who’s Marina?” Fen asks.

Kady and Alice exchange a look, but Margo waves them off. “It’s fine. We can tell her. Marina used to be my personal guard. Glorified babysitter, sparring partner, major bitch.”

“She sounds delightful,” Fen says.

“She stopped hating me a few years into her job, so we got along fine,” Margo says. “Until she kind of betrayed me, and then changed her mind and double-crossed the other traitors, and then had to flee the castle.”

“So was she a Wolf this whole time? Some kind of undercover agent?” Fen asks.

“Not exactly. You remember what I told you about Anna? Oblivion?”

Fen nods. 

“Marina was her ex, and yes, she _was_ an agent, but on the Deserter’s side. She saved me from an assassination, got on my father’s good side and ended up as my guard… perfect inside-person for a future kidnapping, except she stopped hating me, so she redeemed herself and fucked Anna over and got her banished.”

“Okay. What?”

“After this McAllister shit, I’ll give you the whole backstory,” Margo promises. “Right now we’re heading out.”

“Where are we going?” Fen asks.

Kady raises an eyebrow, but Alice shakes her head. “We’re not going with you. Just Margo.”

“It’s a surprise,” Kady adds. “We’ll keep an eye on you.”

Fen grumbles, pretending to be miffed, but gives in without further prying. She accepts a fresh mug of coffee from Kady and lets Alice pile desserts onto her plate. Margo is watching her this whole time, too, barely containing a smile. This rare affection is enough to steer Fen’s mind away from the possibilities of the surprise waiting for her, and toward the overwhelming warmth in her cheeks. She hopes to the Gods that she isn’t turning pink.

After lunch, Fen and Margo rise out of another exit from the Crater and tunnel out from underground on a steel platform. They wear bracelets that change their appearance to everyone except other wearers of the same enchantment. The spellwork feels familiar to Fen, a sensation of lying and submerging in a shallow pool of lukewarm water.

The earth overhead slides aside at Kady’s guidance to reveal the sky. Before climbing out, Kady and Alice put on amber amulets and vanish out of sight. Fen knows they’re still there by the sound of their footsteps as she and Margo hop out of the platform. They are on the middle of a grassy slope, right over the secret headquarters buried underneath.

“We’ll stick close and monitor your location from above ground, but it’s better if you two don’t know where we are,” Kady explains, her voice close by, “in case a mind-slut sneaks up on you.”

Fen turns to the direction of the voice. “Mind-slut?”

“Penny hates the word _psychic_. He says it makes him sound like a nutcase,” Alice explains from a few paces away.

“I like it,” Fen says.

“Mayakovsky hates it.” Margo leads Fen up the slope. “Says it’s a mockery of the discipline.”

Fen shakes her head, amused at the surliness of Margo’s former teacher. If her trip to the Neitherlands hasn’t been so haste, Fen would have loved to meet the guy and see how much he detests her. She follows Margo to the apex of the slope—only it’s not a slope like she thought, but the edge of a large crater in the earth. There are no barriers at the apex to keep people from falling off, but the bowl-shaped depression in the earth looks barren and unoccupied. The floor of the crater is charred. Dark shards of meteorite fragments are embedded in the surrounding wall, their edges smoothed out from years of rain and snow.

Wolfs HQ is hidden beneath a literal crater. This must be how it got its nickname.

“Was this where the asteroid hit?” Fen asks

“It was,” Margo says. “I didn’t know Filmore cared to teach magic history.”

“My teacher did,” Fen says. “He taught us about Prometheus. How the asteroid nearly killed us all, and how he gave us magic so we could save ourselves, all of that.”

It seems fitting that the Free Trader Beowulf built their headquarters under here. The Wolfs are carrying on with Prometheus’ good intentions in mind, trying to save the world from falling to total destruction after the other Gods abandoned it. Fen’s trip to the source of the Wellspring has reassured her that Prometheus is still looking after the humans he cared for, but putting faith in the unseeable is a gamble. No prayer could bring back the people Fen loved. For that, she could only rely on herself.

“Zelda can give you the long-winded version if you meet her,” Margo says. “She might find us at the stadium. Or she’ll wait for us at the Crater.”

“The Nimbus Stadium? Isn’t that all the way west?”

“First lesson in portal-hopping.” Margo crouches down at the crater’s rim and pulls up a climbing rope dangling off the edge. One end of the rope is drilled deep into the earth of the crater’s wall, and the other hangs all the way down to the floor. She hands Fen the rope while holding onto it with both hands. “Slide down until you see the knot. Should be about halfway. I’ll be right underneath.”

“Is the portal in midair?”

“Nope. It’s on the crater’s wall.”

“Illusioned?”

“Of course. This is the Wolfs we’re talking about.” Margo begins her descent, wrapping her legs around the rope and shuffling down. “Helps if you close your eyes.”

Margo slides down the rope before Fen can ask what she means. By the time Fen joins her below, both of them hanging onto the rope in a tangle of limbs, she realizes the answer. The wall of the crater is uneven, caving in and jutting out with stair-like terraces of rocks and dirt. This particular section of the wall caves in, nothing out of the ordinary to unsuspecting civilians. Margo pushes her hand forward, and a pole of ice shoots out from the wall and propels them back before it vanishes. Fen squeezes her eyes shut as advised, and Margo’s hand closes around hers. They swing forward on their rope, right into the wall like a pendulum.

When Fen opens her eyes again, she’s soaring through a pitch-black void. She’s no longer holding a rope, only Margo’s hand. They land on top of a walkway in yet another underground space. Metal creaks under their feet.

Beneath their walkway is the largest armory Fen has set her eyes on: rows upon rows of armor, each standing upright, worn by mannequins of different sizes and proportions; swords and spears in rectangular glass cases, separated by length as well as type of steel; rimmed helmets with various laser-cut runes on the sides and a choice of accessories, from visors to night-vision goggles. The shield on each armor bears the Stormhold coat of arms, the letter S and two crossing axes in front of a shield.

“Surprise,” Margo says. She touches Fen’s shoulder, draws her away from the walkway’s railing, and points to a ladder in front that leads down. “Got an idea who we’re meeting yet?”

“Oh, Margo,” Fen whispers before pulling her into a hug.

“Quicksilver is waiting for us down there.” Margo pats her back. “I believe you’ve already met.”

* * *

In Fen’s early memories, her mother Freya appears in fragments: gray eyes like the color of the steel she bends like armor; a constellation of silver rings along the helix of her ears; brown hair, bunched up in a messy bun, which flops back and forth while she cranes her neck and prods at the form of her latest metal contraption. The version of Freya here in person is a stranger, though she matches every detail of Fen’s preconceived notion of her.

Fen feels her mother’s eyes on her before Fen finds the woman herself standing at an anvil on a workstation by the row of spears with a hammer in hand. There are no fireplaces nearby to forge what Freya can do by hand. Margo follows at a distance, giving the mother and daughter the space they need.

“Fen.”

“Mom.” Fen stops by her workstation. Her palms are sweaty when she wipes them on her borrowed jeans. “Or should I call you Quicksilver?”

Freya puts down the hammer and the spearhead and closes the distance between them. She waits for Fen’s nod before she pulls her daughter into a hug. “We’re not messaging in disguise anymore,” Freya says quietly at Fen’s ear, “You can call me mom.”

When Freya pulls away, Fen finds Margo standing by a case of morning-stars. “Have you two met?” Fen asks.

“Not in person.” Freya crosses her arms over her chest with her hands in fists, a gesture that Fen has seen but never learned what it symbolizes. “Asmodeus speaks highly of you, Margo.”

Margo greets Freya by returning the gesture. “I want to try on my full armor and see if it needs any adjustments. If I have to face McAllister, I need to be prepared for the worst.”

“I’ll work on it right away. It shouldn’t take long—does tonight work?”

“Sounds good. Thank you, Freya.” Margo inclines her head.

Freya unlocks a changing room for Margo to duck inside and change into an under armor. Margo comes out with her armor pieces in hand and lets Freya help her put them on. The armor is made of steel and aluminum, and its silver color is not as intense in person in this underground space. When Margo is fully suited, she looks like the warrior that Fen has grown up watching on telescreens, but Fen now knows that Margo’s strength comes from the love she gives to her people and not a hard shell.

Margo winks at Fen while Freya touches the joints of the armor to feel the areas she needs to adjust. Most of Freya’s red tapes mark around the chest and biceps where Margo is outgrowing the metal plates. Because muscles. Fen busies herself by studying a display of axes nearby so Margo doesn’t catch her staring.

Too soon, Freya finishes measuring and removes each piece of the armor by touch. Margo heads out from the armory’s backdoor, still wearing the fitted under armor that makes Fen’s mind wander. “I’ll be at the Phantom Lair,” she tells Freya. “Could you take Fen to the stadium after you’re done? We can get back to the Crater from there.”

After Margo leaves, Fen sits on a stool and watches her mother work on the breastplate. The steel outer layer molds to the stroke of Freya’s hand across the surface with little resistance. Fen picks up a gauntlet and taps on it to feel the layers. The backing is aluminum to absorb shock, a lighter and flexible metal Fen uses to make training swords for beginners. Freya finishes up the breastplate and sets it aside, and watches Fen silently.

“I remember you working at the forge,” Fen says, looking up. “I was little, but I knew you made the best knives in the world. I wanted to be like you.”

“I’m not sure what you remember.” Freya picks up a pauldron and continues working, her eyes fixed on Fen while her hands mold the metal from memory. “I don’t want you to expect I’m perfect. I can’t measure up to that.”

“I don’t,” Fen answers quickly. Feeling the weight of Freya’s guilt, she explains, “I don’t blame you—it wasn’t your fault that the Couple took you, but I really wanted you back. Dad needed you. I needed you. Or I thought I did, but I was so little when you left. I don’t think I knew you as much as I believed.”

Freya nods. “I understand. Are you angry?”

“No? I don’t know.”

Setting the pauldron aside, Freya clasps her hands and faces her daughter with a sigh. “Many times I would ask myself why I hadn’t gone home. I can try to pretend it’s because I don’t want to put you all in danger again, but I knew Harriet was already there protecting the village. I was… scared. I thought you’d be angry at me, and I wasn’t ready to face that.”

“How long ago did you escape from the Deserters?”

“Six years after they caught me and brought me back to their base. I was under house arrest, you could say. I had more freedom than a prisoner, except I was forced to make weapons for them. Eventually I found an opportunity to run, and I took it. That’s when Sheila found me.”

Fen chuckles. “What would the Wolfs do without a quaeromancer?”

“I wonder the same thing.” Freya molds the second pauldron to mirror the first, then removes the red tape in the areas she’d fixed. “Sheila and Zelda were the only reason the Free Trader Beowulf stayed under the radar. We don’t make public statements like the Deserters. We don’t have some mantra we have to follow, or specific agendas in the name of politics. All we do is help people when the law can’t protect them. Where the king fails to protect them.”

“That may be the case for King Raymond, but Margo is different.”

“I believe that.”

Fen passes her the gauntlet she’s holding. “You do?”

“Asmodeus trusts her.” Freya takes the gauntlet and gives Fen’s hand a small squeeze. “So does Zelda. And I’ve had opportunities to judge her for myself. I’ve seen how Margo fights over the years with her Centurion Guards. Her heart’s in the right place.”

“I’m scared for Margo. Irene fights dirty, but Margo won’t stoop to her level.”

The admission slips out unintentionally, but Fen doesn’t take it back. It’s not hard for Fen to recognize how she feels about the princess anymore, not after she had spent last night pouring her heart out beneath a meditation tent, and Margo had listened. The last person Fen had opened up to was Julia, and that conversation had happened years ago when Josh was still around. When Fen was a different person.

Freya gives Fen the space to mull over her feelings while she finishes the rest of the armor pieces that need adjusting. “I worry, too. But Margo can hold her own in a duel, and she knows what Irene’s capable of. And she won’t be alone. As much as she wants Eliot and the others to be free, they’ll be right behind her if she needs them.”

“So will I,” Fen says. Hearing herself makes her words sound like a promise.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” Freya says.

Fen hugs her mom again, grateful that she won’t try to stop her or tell her what’s right. “I will.”

They finish molding the armor pieces together, Fen holding them per Freya’s instruction while Freya makes the adjustments. Though Freya could have managed by herself, she lets Fen help. Maybe Freya is trying to make up for lost time, but to Fen, this afternoon at the armory feels like her first full memory of her mother. After everything is complete, Freya sets the pieces into a duffle bag and leads the way to the backdoor. There is an elevator shaft behind it, which looks abandoned with old age, but to no one’s surprise, the elevator door opens once it senses Fen and Freya’s presence. Inside is a modernized booth with a map of the Trickster Vaults, which zooms in on the midwest part of the kingdom.

Freya types in a chain of commands in binary code, and the elevator lurches into motion—not up or down, but to the left, forcing Fen and Freya against the wall on the right side. Gasping, Fen holds the rail tight with her fists. She relaxes once the elevator relaxes its pace and settles into its course.

“I’m proud of you, honey.” Freya says, leaning against the wall and the rail besides Fen. “You told me you reopened my shop. I’ve seen the pictures of your best knives that you sent me. Wall is lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, mom.” Fen accepts the compliment with a smile. “I’m lucky I found my calling.”

“I plan to go back to Wall after the Deserters are no longer a threat,” Freya says. “I thought you’d like to know. It’s time I face my fears. I know the situation’s complicated with Dint losing his memories, but I want to try and help him.”

“Do we need a psychic? Like Penny?”

The elevator makes a right turn, and Freya frowns. “I’m not sure. I know how Anna works. She doesn’t erase memories. No psychic has the power to do that, to make something cease to exist. The landscape in our minds is something only we know. Other people, psychics, can follow the paths we made once they force their way in, or try to shift them, or break them so we lose our way. That’s what’s happening to Dint.”

Only half the explanation makes sense to Fen. Still, she can picture the paths she’d dreamt up in her own mind, recalling Penny’s guided meditation last night. “So, what do we do?”

“Dint made those paths himself—paths that lead to his memories of me. Anna broke these paths, but I hope that when I return, and he sees me, he can pick up the pieces. You’d be surprised how much our own minds can do to heal.”

“I have faith in that,” Fen says.

Freya puts her arm around Fen’s shoulder, and Fen settles into the touch. “Always the optimist. I’m glad the world hasn’t changed you.”

“Me, too.” Fen sways as the elevator makes another turn. “I’ve come to see that a little hope goes a long way.”

“That’s very wise.” The elevator ascends in a gentle slope, getting closer to the land’s surface. “We’re almost at the Phantom Lair. I’ll assemble the armor once we find Margo.”

They are still underground when the elevator levels itself and glides forward again. Fen can tell by the echo outside the walls that they’re only one level underground now. “Can I ask you something that you might wish to forget?” Fen asks.

“Of course. Anything you want to know.”

“What made you leave the Deserters?”

Freya nods like she had been expecting the question. “I started having doubts a few years after Anna and Marina were brought in. They were sweet little girls who ran away from a bad orphanage. Before they got romantically close in their teens, they were best friends. Inseparable friends. They had the biggest hearts, but they had a hard time controlling their magic because of all the things they went through. That all changed when Paloma ripped out their Shades when they were ten—old enough to survive the ordeal, but young enough that Shades were easy to pull out. I watched how they changed. How they stopped caring.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Speaking from experience, losing a Shade is not a death sentence. Marina found a better path, and I was fortunate enough to do the same. But you’re right, it’s atrocious. A magician can learn to live a moral life without their Shade, but no one should have to go through losing their Shade and be forced to make that decision to stay good.”

“You’re saying losing your Shade doesn’t guarantee you’ll lose yourself?” Fen asks.

“I believe it isn’t, but it’s easier said than done. It may sound liberating to be free of your emotions, but it’s dangerous to live without limits, to weaponize magic when it’s the way we live, not a tool. The Deserters’ biggest misconception is that the Shade is fixed, unchanging. That it can be amputated like a limb. I’ve come to see it’s more complicated.”

“How exactly do Shades work?”

“The Shade, as the Couple once explained to me, is a manifestation of our attachments. The Couple presumes we were born with a Shade, and once we lose it, that was it. No new attachments. No going back. But I disagree. When Prometheus chose which humans to gift with magic, he chose adults who can make a difference. He chose people who had lived long enough to bond with friends and families. He made these attachments into a separable, tangible entity to keep an eye on them. To make sure magicians stay on the right path.

“What I mean is, I don’t think the Shade is born with the magician. I think we grow it ourselves as we live out our lives. And people like me or Marina, who find new people to care for, or remember how we once felt for the loved ones in our past? We can still channel the memories to make emotional decisions. I think we’re regrowing our Shade; I’m not sure how true this is literally. All I know is I’ve lived years without my Shade, but I still taught myself how to love you and your dad. I feel sorry that Anna has never had the chance to do the same.”

Fen nods and touches her mom’s shoulder in comfort. Freya had chosen to love Fen and her father. The Deserters think love is weakness, but Fen hears the strength in her mother’s conviction that she had put herself on the right path. If the Shade can be reborn for real, Fen would not be surprised.

“Having no heart doesn’t sound like freedom to me,” Fen says.

“It isn’t,” Freya agrees. “That’s why I left. When I was little, the Couple taught me that true freedom is shedding the burden of obligation. Of feeling compelled to do anyone else’s bidding, or feeling guilty for not putting others before yourself. After watching Marina and Anna become the Couple’s pawns, I decided that wasn’t the kind of freedom I want. I want the freedom to love like Anna and Marina once did.”

Fen looks her mom in the eye. “I’m so sorry they forced you to go back to that life.”

“Don’t be. You and your father were the best things that ever happened to me. I understood the risk of being re-captured when I escaped, and I don’t regret my decision.”

The elevator stops, and the doors open to a hallway made of granite. Freya leads the way out.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Be careful. About dad, and getting his memories back. It’s… it’s been a long time since he… since he remembered.”

“I know, Fen.” Freya falls into step beside Fen. “Thank you for looking out for me. But if there’s a chance to help him remember who he was, I have to try.”

“I know.”

“I understand if you don’t want to come back—we’re far from a picture-perfect family. There’s no reason for us to live like we did in the past. Plus, my little girl’s all grown up.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Fen whines.

“I still remember you as my little girl,” Freya says. “That’s why new memories are important. Like this one.”

“Today was great,” Fen says. “I’ll come home with you someday. I’ve got more family than just you and dad now. I’ve got the Hobermans. Julia. Harriet. Even Fogg, although I’m sure he’d love some peace and quiet. Right now I’m not ready to leave.”

“You want to give Stormhold a chance like I did with Filmore.”

“I do.”

The reason Fen wants to stay has to do with a particular princess, soon to be queen, but she doesn’t share that out loud. She has a feeling her mom has picked up the hints anyway.

“I can respect that,” Freya says. “And your dad and I can’t stop you. Go live your life.”

“I’m glad we talked, mom. I hope to see you again soon.”

Freya smiles. “If you’re okay with talking—with having me back in your life—I’d love to spend more time with you when things settle down.”

* * *

Fen walks to the Phantom Lair with Freya a few paces behind. Her steps echo in the hall, and she touches the cold exposed granite on the walls as she thinks about the conversation she just had. Yes, she wants to give Stormhold a chance, but her reservations about going back home is related not to this kingdom, but to its future queen.

The door to the lair opens on its own, true to its eerie name. Inside is a conference area with two round tables and six telescreens framed on the walls, and corner shelves with tools and accessories locked behind glass: whetstones, spare visors, even scabbards. Turquoise LED lights illuminate the room from their hiding spots under the crevices between the ceiling panels. Every piece of furniture in the Phantom Lair is gray and metallic, either floating or bolted to the walls. The conference room seems aptly named, as dramatic as its title appears.

Margo sits waiting on a crescent-shaped bench hovering three feet off the ground, supported by a magnet plate on the ground that lets it hover in the air without tipping over. At the sight of Fen and Freya, Margo hops off her seat and invites them in. She’s wearing her hair in a loose side braid, the same way she wore it in battle when her Centurion Guards were around.

“Your armor is finished. Let me assemble it.” Freya sets down the duffle bag on a floating table and beckons Margo over.

The armor pieces weld wherever Freya directs them to, becoming whole again over Margo’s body. Fen sits on a crescent-shaped bench to watch, keeping her feet grounded in case the magnetism fails to balance her. When the armor is done, Freya fastens the helmet over Margo’s head. Margo rolls back her shoulders and lifts her arms, then tries out her stances without unleashing any ice. “It fits perfectly now.” She turns to Fen. “What do you think?”

“Beautiful,” Fen says without thinking. Flustered, she adds, “Oh, I-I meant—”

Margo laughs, putting Fen out of her misery. “Sweet compliment. I’ll take it.”

Fen searches for her mom and finds Freya backing away to the door with a knowing look in her eye. What has gotten into her? A few hours ago she and Margo were talking just fine. The last time she was a blubbering idiot around Margo was when they first met—when Margo had robbed her hovercraft and tried to ditch her. If there’s anything to blame for Fen’s current predicament, it’s the armor. It has to be. She’s a knifemaker. Metal is kind of a big deal.

“Are there any more adjustments you want me to make?” Freya asks, sparing Fen from having to stammer out a response.

“I’m good now. It’s perfect. Thank you, Freya.”

“I’m going to get back to the armory.” Freya closes her fists and crosses her arms again, then opens the door. “Give me a call if there are any problems. Good luck with McAllister.”

Margo returns the gesture. “Thanks again. I’ll need it.”

The room’s LED lights change color gradually, turning from turquoise to sky blue, but Fen doesn’t take her eyes off of Margo in her shining armor. Margo returns from the door to catch Fen staring at her. She winks and flexes in her newly-fitted armor by stepping to the side in a horse stance and punching out her fist. A gauntlet of ice wraps around Margo’s fist and grows spikes in imitation of brass knuckles, then dispels into vapor when Margo opens her hand.

“I’ve never seen you fight in full armor up close,” Fen says. “You look formidable.”

“It’s been a few years.” Margo pulls off her helmet and tosses it to Fen, who nearly slips off the bench to catch it. Thankfully, the hovering seat doesn’t tip over from the impact. “I’m rusty. I need to break this armor in.”

“Can I help?”

“We’re in the right place for practice if you’re up for a spar.”

“You’re proposing a rematch?”

Margo lowers herself to kneel on one knee and holds out a hand in offer. “This time we fight as partners, Fen of Wall. Do you accept my invitation?”

Fen accepts Margo’s hand and lets her help her off the hovering bench. Margo takes her helmet from Fen and tucks a strand of Fen’s hair behind her ear before fastening it over Fen’s head. Any protest Fen has is silenced when Margo puts a finger over Fen’s lips. The helmet, unlike the armor, is cushioned on the inside with a soft padding that molds to the shape of the wearer’s head. They walk out the door, which locks behind them.

“So, who are we fighting?” Fen asks.

“Not who,” Margo leads the way to another elevator on the far side of the hallway. “I’m taking you to the arena. Tonight we’ll be fighting dummies.”

* * *

The dummies, it turns out, are intricate battle-automatons with padded, flesh-toned outer coats that makes them vaguely humanoid. Mayakovsky had built them himself for Margo’s training, and insisted on naming them as such to teach his students a lesson. “Dummies attack without thinking,” Margo explains when she and Fen walk out into the arena. “ _If you fight without brain, you are dummy, too,_ ” she mimics.

“Are you sure we should be here?”

“It’s after-hours. There’s another barrier overhead between us and the stands. From our end, it’s clear glass, but for the audience, it looks like a mirror reflection of them.”

They are in the middle of the arena where magicians used to duel in the Challenge of the Undaunted. The Nimbus Stadium is built out of a titanium shell that resembles a closed flower. Six petals make up the dome that opens up during events to let the spectators in. When the stadium is closed for maintenance, the impenetrable dome provides extra security, a last line of defense if someone sneaks past the detection of the surveillance drones. The latest challenge was held here six months ago, around the time King Raymond assigned extra security units around landmarks like this stadium and the entire District of Ogygia.

Beneath the benches where the audience sits during a game is another barrier, a magical ward that gives off the illusion of a one-sided mirror. This is where Fen and Margo are standing now, surrounded by twelve training dummies with only a quarter of the arena’s lights lit. Margo is wearing her full metal armor to break it in before her inevitable fight with Irene, and Fen is still wearing Margo’s helmet, plus a borrowed set of kevlar armor found in storage. The armor had once belonged to Margo back when she and the Junior Centurion Guards used the stadium to train, but it is flexible to a degree save for the reinforced plates around the torso and shoulders. Fen fits into it with relative comfort, and now she stands by Margo’s side, awaiting the battle with a training sword and shield in hand.

“Three. Two. One,” a woman’s voice echoes quietly in the speakers that Margo had turned down low, “Begin.”

The dummies surround Fen and Margo in a circle. Some of them attack by sword, others by sharp, flying projectiles to mimic powers like Margo’s. One even shoots small bursts of flames from a small cannon in their mechanical arm, easy enough to dodge but dangerous enough to up the stakes. Fen and Margo take their stance back-to-back and parry the attacks. Fen deflects the projectiles with her shield and lands hits on the dummies’ torsos with practiced aims while Margo goes for her opponents with a barrage of ice spears, while she covers herself with a circular shield of ice that spins and grows in size.

Four dummies hang back as the rest of the opponents go down after a brief struggle. Two begin attacking after the other automated figures power down, one with a barbed whip and another that sprays water. The barbed whip almost wraps around Fen’s arm, but Fen ducks beneath it and slides on the grass to dodge before sticking her sword into the trajectory of the whip. It twists in the air in motion, pushing against the wind’s resistance, but Fen is ready for the curved trajectory. The whip tangles around the blade of Fen’s sword without touching the grip, and Fen pulls down hard enough to tip the dummy forward and land a swift kick in its body where a person’s ribs would be.

Fen turns after her victory to watch Margo take down the water-spraying dummy. Margo dodges the water instead of freezing the jets. Instead, she reaches the water spout from one side of the dummy’s arm and freezes its opening. A large glass marble nearly hits Fen’s shoulder from overhead and reminds her that there are two more opponents. The last dummies are flying above like they’re telekinetic, one shooting marbles and the other spraying a dense fog that obstructs any view of the dummies’ silhouettes.

A dome of ice forms in front of the fog and encircles Fen close to Margo’s side. Fen touches the solid surface, marveling at the efficiency of the shield. Margo peers back up to try and see through the fog, then shakes her head.

“Why in Persephone’s name are there flying dummies?” Fen hisses.

“Not everyone attacks at ground level.”

“Great.”

Margo pauses, frowning, then says, “I need you to trust me.”

“For what?”

“We can’t take them from down here. We need to jump them from above. Are you prepared?”

Fen takes a deep breath and nods. She expects the arena floor to rise like a platform and bring them up, but instead, an ice pedestal launches her and Margo into the air. At the command of Margo’s hand, the pedestal under their feet lurches sideways, a motion that nearly makes Fen fall off. Margo grabs her arm and pulls her back with a wink.

The dummies, sensing the motion behind them, turn to meet their opponents at face level. A few seconds later, Fen and Margo finish the simulation victorious, having hit all their opponents in what would be fatal or otherwise crucial blows.

The timer says the battle lasts four minutes and seventeen seconds, but it feels like a whole hour has passed. A cart rolls itself into the middle of the arena and lowers a ramp. All twelve dummies roll themselves on using wheels underneath their padded bodies where a person’s feet would be. Once the ramp disappears, the dummies power down, and the cart rolls them to a back room.

“Is anyone going to ask questions?” Fen asks, following Margo downstairs after they turn off the arena’s lights.

Margo lets her into the underground level to retrieve her armor from the changing room. “We came at a good time. The Wolfs have been using the stadium during off seasons to train new recruits. There’s a cleanup crew coming in before midnight.”

“That’s efficient.”

They pick up the armor and return to the Phantom Lair to wait for Kady’s message. Freya has finished work at the armory by now, so the Wolfs will activate another portal to bring them back to HQ. The LED lights at the lair flicker on when they enter, this time illuminating a dim purple. Hovering benches and tables, which had deactivated and lowered themselves to the floor when the room was unoccupied, now spring back to life and levitate at seating-level.

After setting down the duffle bag with the armor, Margo hops onto a desk instead of one of the crescent benches and pats the space next to her. Fen climbs her way up from on a bench and moves close to the center, still iffy about the weight this strange furniture can withstand.

“You fought like a champion,” Margo says. She loosens her braid and removes her helmet, then shakes her head and lets the wavy strands of hair fall free.

“I can’t take all the credit,” Fen says. “I have a great partner.”

Margo leans closer so their eyes meet. The purple light in the room fades to pink. While Fen is distracted, Margo unhooks the straps under Fen’s chin and takes the helmet from her, a sneaky gesture that makes Fen squeal in surprise. As the pink lighting grows in intensity, Fen concludes that the LED must be a mood-sensor. That’s the only explanation for why the color changes to reflect how she feels.

“You’re a quick study,” Margo says. “It took Eliot a few battles to pick up what you just did.”

“I paid attention during our spar because I’m curious,” Fen admits. “How does your magic work? You don’t freeze water, do you? You make your own ice somehow.”

Margo holds out her hand, palm facing up, and it takes Fen a second to realize it’s an invitation. The light around the room turns orange as Fen lays her hand over Margo’s. Fen stifles a gasp when Margo’s fingers close around her wrist. Her touch is gentle, cold, slightly ticklish; Fen resists the urge to pull away. Margo’s pulse thrums gently under her skin, and Fen’s pulse quickens in response.

Frost gathers in the tight space between their skin and builds itself up gradually. When the ice condenses all the way around Fen’s wrist, Margo lets go, her hands now warming up. The ice thickens into a wide cuff around Fen’s wrist, a light blue band filled with tiny white specks of air bubbles trapped inside.

“You’re wondering why my hand gets warm,” Margo says.

Fen pulls her gaze away from the ice cuff to see Margo smiling. It’s a mesmerized smile, no quips, only a quiet understanding.

“Marina is a pyromancer,” Margo explains. “Mayakovsky had her involved in my training early on because we were complete opposites. Fire and ice.”

“Marina was your personal guard, right? The one who you said ran away?”

“Yeah. That’s her. I can’t freeze large portions of water, to answer your question. I do make my own ice, but I don’t generate it out of nothing, just like Marina doesn’t conjure flames. I don’t know how it works on a molecular level, but what I do understand—” Margo closes her hand into a fist slowly before releasing her grip, and a tiny ice cube floats above her fingers—“is that I can pull heat from the air to turn the water molecules into ice. Marina fuels the air from the heat inside herself to make flames. So right now, I’m holding in the extra heat. When I release the hold of my power, my ice doesn’t melt. It evaporates.”

The cube sublimates into vapor without warning. Fen looks down with wide eyes, then reaches out to touch the space where the ice was only a second ago. Her fingers swipe through nothing but air. The ice cuff on her wrist, though, stays solid and frozen.

“I could watch this all day,” Fen says.

“I used to do this all day. Trust me, it gets old.”

“Why? For practice?”

“Not always.” Margo draws her hands away and places them on her lap. “Sometimes I was just bored. This was before Eliot barged his way into my life and tried to talk to me about feelings.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“It was a long time ago,” Margo says quickly.

Fen lets it go. Margo isn’t the only friend who backs away at the first sign of pity. “I made knives when I was bored,” she shares instead. “When my dad wasn’t home, before Josh moved to Wall and bombarded my house with pastries. I wasn’t allowed to poke around in his lab. Like, come on, I decapitated a home security bot _one time_ …”

“Decapitated?” Margo looks up again.

“It snuck up on me from behind a shelf!”

“So you knocked its head off?”

“With a knife.”

“Classic.”

“My dad wasn’t so amused.” Fen moves closer, a smirk on her face. She lets the smugness carry over as she asks, “It’s lonely, isn’t it? Being left on your own?”

“My father had me under surveillance all the time, but crownguards don’t make great company. Took me a few years to get Marina to crack,” Margo says, more or less in agreement. It’s crazy, Fen thinks, how they shared the same isolation from two different worlds. “It was necessary for my safety. Whatever. I understood that. But fuck, I was so bored. Every now and then I’d build an ice-man and sneak him out the window. He’d climb up the steps to my tower and try to invade me. Marina appreciated Sir Frost more than my other crownguards.”

Fen turns the ice cuff on her wrist, still in pristine condition from the demonstration earlier, and admires its smooth edges. “We would’ve wreaked so much havoc if we’d been friends back then.”

It takes Fen a moment to notice Margo hasn’t answered. Fen releases the ice cuff and lets it slide to the base of her hand before she looks up.

Margo leans forward and cups Fen’s cheek with a warming hand, tilting her chin and parting her lips. Fen relinquishes under the touch and lets Margo kiss her, feeling her own hesitation melt away. Then she returns the kiss, a smile escaping the corners of her mouth, and loses touch with everything in the room except Margo’s soft lips brushing against hers.

They free themselves from each other to catch their breaths and open their eyes, silently asking for more.

* * *

Hours later, Fen enters the Crater with Margo from the same door she walked through that morning. The lab area is not a straight hallway this time, but an intersection with only white walls and no doors save for the janitor’s closet. Fen steps backward to where they started instead of venturing further, surprised that walking through here once had done nothing to help her familiarize with this place. Kady and Alice appear a minute later, having followed Fen and Margo above ground the entire time.

“The hallways are illusioned,” Kady explains and pockets her invisibility amulet. “Alice and I have access to the labs, so when we lead you, the path is straight.”

“What about the other Wolfs?” Fen asks.

“This isn’t a widely used entrance,” Alice says. “Only the researchers come through here. There are other ways in. Don’t try to ask us where they are.”

“Yes, boss,” Margo teases.

They part ways for the evening after a quick goodnight, and Kady and Alice disappear into the kitchen to make hot chocolates before bed. Fen considers asking Margo to come into her room so they can spend the night, but perhaps that’s too soon. The smile Margo gives her is enough to hold her over, and she needs time to think.

Fen strips off her new kevlar armor after locking the door and goes into the shower to wash up, lathering her hair with some mint-scented shampoo she finds by the sink. The warm water running across her back and the freshness from the mint reminds her of Margo’s touch as they sat in the arena and talked earlier. As she witnessed Margo’s cryomancy up close and realized the ice isn’t Margo’s core, but a shield that protects the gentler side of her.

Fen steps out of the shower with the realization that she is fully prepared to storm into battle for a woman she has only met three days ago. The idea of fighting Irene McAllister’s allies doesn’t scare her, not like the idea of stumbling into Stormhold to save Josh once did. Eliot may bond fast, but Margo bonds in a way that’s unforgettable.

Someone knocks on Fen’s bedroom door. Fen hops out of the bathroom, dries herself, and throws on a set of blue pajamas she finds in the wardrobe before she opens up. Kady is outside, holding a tablet. “Sorry. I know you’re probably exhausted, but… it’s for you.” 

Kady hands the tablet to Fen, which vibrates in a staccato rhythm, signaling an incoming call with hologram activated. On the screen is the name Julia Wicker.

“It’s okay,” Fen says. “I’ll take the call. Thank you.”

“You can give this back tomorrow.” Kady leaves.

Fen answers the call after she sits down on her bed and places the tablet on her lap. Julia’s hologram emerges from the screen and stands at the height of Fen’s shoulder. “Hey, Fen.” Her voice is clear and distinct like she’s standing right here, not speaking through a microphone. “Thanks for leaving me hanging.”

“Sorry.” Fen winces.

“I’m joking. Asmodeus has been following up with Harriet and me. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Fen beams. “I found Josh.”

Julia smiles. It’s been years since Fen last saw her do so without holding back. “So I’ve heard.”

“And Quentin,” Fen adds.

Julia’s hologram form looks up to meet her eyes. “My hero.”

Fen sets the tablet down on the ground and adjusts the setting so Julia can appear life-sized. Now Julia stands in front of Fen as a perfect but semi-transparent reflection. Julia looks around and stops when she sees the kevlar armor hanging in front of the bathroom door. “I called earlier, but Asmodeus wasn’t here. Another Wolf picked up. Some cranky guy in a purple vest.”

“Penny?”

“Yeah, him. He said Asmodeus was out with you and Princess Margo.”

“Oh. She filled you in about Margo?”

Julia raises her eyebrow at Fen’s lack of formality in addressing the princess. Fen has revealed more than she intended. Instead of feeling embarrassed, or perhaps guilty, Fen is relieved that the truth is out. There’s no way for her to sugarcoat her change of heart to the woman she used to date; to break the news to her best friend, who she had loved for years and will continue to love, but no longer in a romantic way.

She expects Julia to question her about her intentions, or to jump in with another question about Josh and Quentin and forget she ever mentioned the princess, but Julia watches her with knowing eyes.

“I’m not mad,” Julia answers the unspoken question. “Like I said at the picnic that night: I’ll always be grateful for how you helped me when I needed you the most. I’m honored that I had two wonderful years as your girlfriend. But I can’t be the partner you deserve. I hurt you when you needed me on your side, after everything you’ve done for me.”

“I forgave you for that,” Fen reminds her, her voice thick as she tears up. She dabs her eyes dry and lets Julia continue, to give them the goodbye they both need.

Julia nods. “I remember. Your forgiveness means more than I can say. But you and I both know we’re moving on.”

“We are,” Fen agrees. “Penny will bring Josh and Quentin back. And my mom, too. You’ll like him. He warms up to people faster than he admits.”

Julia nods. “I can’t believe you found everyone.”

“Sometimes, it’s okay to have hope.”

“Always the optimist,” Julia quips. “I miss your little speeches about hope. I miss _you_.”

“Aww, Jules.”

“Come visit after you help the future queen find peace.”

“I will,” Fen promises. When she sees Julia again, she will give her the hug that her hologram can’t receive. “Friends?”

“Always,” Julia agrees. 

In thinking about her friends reuniting, Fen accepts what she couldn’t before—that sometimes the love between two people can change in form but stay just as strong. And after today, after returning Margo’s kiss, Fen decides to stay and help however she can. To give herself and Margo a chance to kindle the kind of love that she and Julia once had.

“I’ll let you sleep,” Julia says. “But call me again as soon as you can, okay? Or I’ll dig a tunnel to Stormhold and find you myself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After the call ends, Fen blows her hair dry by the mirror and washes the tears off her cheeks, though the red rims around her eyes would still give away that she’d been crying. She brushes her teeth, then breathes in slowly and smiles at her reflection, free of the uncertainty she once carried about Julia and the possibility of a second chance. Now that she has had time to think, she turns off her lights, walks out of her room, and stops in front of Margo’s door.

The door opens not long after she knocks, and Margo’s bewildered face peers out from the gap. She is wearing a set of sky blue pajamas identical to Fen’s, smelling like mint. Her expression softens when she notes the red rims around Fen’s eyes. “Is there someone I should scold for breaking your heart?” she asks.

Fen chuckles and shakes her head. “My heart is doing fine. But I don’t want to be alone.”

Margo stands aside and lets her in.


	12. Wildfaire

_Posing as a crownguard was proving more difficult than Marina had imagined. Marina was only here because Hannah had failed in her infiltration by growing attached to Queen Samira, enough that she eventually betrayed the Deserters and got herself banished alongside her beloved lady friend. A classic cliché, falling for a target, and certainly not the Couple had expected from their best former operative. Even without her Shade, Hannah had still been weak somehow._

_But Marina was different; she would not let her feelings get in the way._

_After Hannah, every operative had failed to capture Princess Margo, but Marina was on her way to breaking that sad excuse of a cycle by thinking outside the box. All it took was one staged attack while the royal family en route to their winter lodge, where the other crownguards failed to seize the assailant, but Marina had been there to save the day._

_It hadn't been easy to earn King Raymond's trust, not when the queen's death and subsequent kidnapping attempts on the five-year-old princess had left him paranoid. But Marina's action had spoken for itself, so as a reward, she was offered a position as the crownguard, one she accepted so she could stay close and bide her time. She was assigned to stand guard by Margo's door each night. Five years later, she planned to steal Margo away in her sleep and bring her back to the Couple, once the princess was old enough to part from her Shade without dying._

_Now, two years into the job, Marina was coming to realize feelings had a way of sneaking up on someone regardless of the Shade’s presence._

_Through the closed door of Margo’s bedroom, Marina heard her sobs. It was sad to witness, even though it had been seven years since Marina remembered what sadness felt like. The old Marina would have held Margo’s hand and stayed with her through the night. She had done it before, she knew, when Anna was too terrified to sleep in case her memories haunted her dreams._

_Marina opened the door ajar and scolded herself for giving in. Margo was lying on her stomach, a bandage across her back covering the fresh tattoo she'd acquired hours earlier. With her hand coated in ice, Margo touched the bandage, beneath which the cacodemon writhed in his trap in an echo of its host's distress. She cried in pain as the ice hissed against her skin._

_“Stop that,” Marina said._

_Margo didn't flinch, only turned her head to watch Marina approach her bed. Between Mayakovsky's blunt teaching methods and the king's lack of patience as a father, she was used to being scolded._

_With a flame growing in her hand, Marina sat on the edge of Margo’s bed. “He likes heat.”_

_Marina hovered her flaming hand over Margo's back. Though Margo watched skeptically, she didn't tell her to stop. Marina slowly placed her palm over the bandage covering the tattoo and let the fire transfer from her hand into the cacodemon trap on Margo's back._

_“Thank you,” Margo said, relaxing under her touch._

_That night Marina stayed by Margo’s side. She told herself it was because she hated the sound of crying and had to put an end to that noise. The princess fell asleep with a smile, comforted by an affection Marina didn’t know she was still capable of. Marina’s fire tickled Margo’s skin without burning through flesh._

_Mayakovsky had once said their disciplines were two sides of the same coin. Both controlled temperature, and neither could hurt the other. Marina would betray Anna, her former ally, and repeat Hannah's mistake on Margo's tenth birthday. Anna would get caught and get banished for her crimes, and Marina would flee the castle. And Marina would wonder if their complementary magic had been a sign all along_ — _a sign that she and the princess would end up on the same side._

* * *

Fen spends the night in Margo's room, both of them huddled under the same blanket to sleep. Any denial Margo has about her feelings for Fen is rendered meaningless as Margo drifts into an uninterrupted sleep all the way until dawn. From the brief conversation they had before they dozed off, Margo learned of Fen's break-up, but when Margo tried to offer her condolences, all she got was a reassuring shake of the head. Fen told her she was freer than she has been for a long time. Free to give Margo a chance.

If Margo isn't about to start a duel she may not finish, she would be ecstatic.

As a princess, Margo has accepted since childhood that friendships and other such intimacies for her are always inherently unbalanced, so long as the other person is loyal to her kingdom. The relationship she has with Fen is unchartered territory, because Fen has spoken highly of Margo and her potential as the future queen, much higher than Margo expects for herself. As a Filmore citizen, Fen has no reason to lie about her opinions, no reason to kiss Margo's ass for her own benefit. This is both the best and the worst part about Fen—that she tells the truth about how she feels, but it's hard for Margo to see herself that way.

She has to try, though, doesn’t she? Try to live up to the good image that Fen has of her.

With that resolve, Margo gets out of bed, careful not to wake Fen. She changes quickly in the bathroom and freshens up before she leaves her room. There's no more point in stalling now that Margo has her armor. Today, she will send a message to her kingdom and accept Irene's challenge.

The real Zelda is waiting for Margo in the kitchen at the Cozener Wing, sitting quietly at the table with a cup of coffee and an old scroll. Margo makes some toast for herself and pours her own coffee before joining Zelda, forcing herself to look into the woman’s eyes and say good morning. There’s no way Everett has impersonated Zelda again after shit went down at her shop, but the resemblance between Everett’s interpretation and the real woman is uncanny.

“Hey, Zelda. Glad to see you made it out,” Margo says.

“I apologize for not getting a message out to you in time.” Zelda sets down her scroll. “My shop was compromised only an hour before your coronation. I was still on my way back to headquarters by the time you attempted to go through the rendezvous.”

Margo peers at the scroll. It shows a sequence of runes that blinks in and out of sight, along with illustrations of an ornate cloak and a butterfly mask over a person's face. She lets it go, for now, unable to read the text upside down. It's an illusion spell of some kind, but Zelda will fill her in later if it's important. "It's not your fault. Shit happens, and I'm fine."

As expected, Zelda purses her lips at Margo’s choice of language. “It’s good to have you back.”

“So. Any advice before I accept McAllister's bargain?”

“I have seen you grow into a wise leader. There is nothing special I can offer you. No trick that will bypass Irene’s thirst for power. I think your best chance is to take Irene’s word for what she wants, but expect a backup plan. Irene is not gracious about loss. Should you win the duel, she may unleash other powers to try and defeat you.”

“Her Centurion?”

“Them, and perhaps other allies.”

“You’re saying I should keep my friends from getting caught in the crossfire.”

Zelda rolls up the scroll and tucks it into her purse. “If you wish to rule by example, not by absolute authority, I don’t believe it’s wise to order anyone to stay out. Your friends may wish to assist. Will you order them to stand down?”

Margo takes a swig of coffee before answering, “Fuck. I haven’t thought of it like that.”

“This does not make you a tyrant,” Zelda reassures her, “but I advise you to reconsider.”

“I’ll think about it.”

For now, this answer seems to satisfy Zelda, who pours herself another coffee while she waits for Margo to finish her breakfast. “If you’re up for a walk, I would like to take you somewhere. We can travel within the Trickster Vaults until we arrive. Kady has agreed to escort us.”

“Would it help me make my decision?”

“I believe so.”

“Alright. We should leave a note.”

“I can pass on a message to Alice.”

Margo eats quickly, and ten minutes later, she and Zelda are out of the Crater again, shadowed by an invisible Kady. The Trickster Vaults are an endless maze of tunnels, but walking with Zelda is a shortcut all in itself. Zelda is a mnemochaser, a seer of the past. Her power gives her a photographic memory that makes navigation a breeze. Soon Margo and Zelda are climbing up a ladder out of a manhole that hasn't been destroyed in the War, activating their illusion bracelets to mask their appearance.

They emerge in the middle of a large park behind a thicket of tall bushes. On a platform in front of them is a marble statue of a woman with short wavy hair wearing a long cloak. Margo recognizes the woman from history books that Rafe once used to teach her. This is a statue of Eleanor Lipson, a renowned army doctor and master healer who helped thousands of soldiers during the War and died as a hero. Zelda has taken her to Memorial Park, only two towns away from the District of Ogygia where Castle Blackspire stands. The park marks the center of the City of Swiftford, famous for its battlements surrounding the ruins of an older castle built by humans instead of nymphs. Thankfully it is still closed, and will be until midday.

Zelda finds a bench beside the statue and invites Margo to sit. A small ward rises beyond the bushes and periphery of the statue, shielding Margo and Zelda—and Kady, wherever she is exactly—in a soundproof barrier so they can speak freely. 

“Why are we here?” Margo asks.

“You were concerned for your friends’ safety against Irene’s Centurion during your final confrontation, but Irene and her followers will not be the only people you have to defeat,” Zelda explains. “The Deserters may take this opportunity to attack whoever wins, you or Irene. You know they intend to liberate the kingdom’s citizens from so-called tyranny, and they consider the monarchy to be part of the oppression.”

“Great. More enemies.”

“I am here to give you a side of Eleanor Lipson’s story outside of historical records. This story relates to the creation of the Deserters, and the magic involved in removing a person’s Shade. Tell me what you know about Lipson.”

"Okay. Well. Eleanor Lipson's discipline was healing," Margo recounts. "She was considered one of the best, had a few spells under her name that she invented… and she worked for Rupert Chatwin? She helped out on the battlefront during the War. And Mayakovsky knew her, or something. He told me once when I was little. I got the feeling he'd rather not talk about it."

“I see.” Zelda’s expression remains unchanged. She crosses her legs at the ankle and straightens her back. “That is an understatement. Mayakovsky and Lipson were in love.”

_That_ , Margo did not expect. “No wonder he brushed me off when I got nosy.”

“I think he regrets the relationship in some ways. You know of Mayakovsky’s imprisonment at your castle?”

“Of course I do—he was stuck there until last year when his sentence was done. He had to have special clearance to go into the Nimbus Stadium to train me.”

“That wasn’t his only imprisonment at Castle Blackspire,” Zelda clarifies. “He was under arrest during King Rupert’s time.”

“Right. Rafe told me that in one of my history lessons—something about helping Rupert harness the Wellspring?”

Zelda nods. "Mayakovsky was a researcher before the War. His specialty was magical energy sources. He knew that Junctions exist, but he didn't know where. That was when Everett found his opportunity to join the magicians' side because he had Sheila on his side. He adopted her when she was little for her quaeromancy power. They located a Junction."

“The one at the Atlas Spire?”

“Correct. With this knowledge, Rupert forced Mayakovsky to help harness the energy of the Wellspring, like you said. The energy helped Rupert and his forces win the War, but his partner, Lance Morrison, died from a confrontation with Martin Chatwin. The heartbreak turned Rupert bitter. He led the forces to fight against the non-magicians trying to eradicate our kind, but with the love of his life gone, he lost sight of his once-good intentions.”

“My mom told me what Rupert was like by the time she and my father overthrew him,” Margo says. “He ditched his morals as a do-gooder. Attempted necromancy. Not technically possible for humans, but he was obsessed.”

“But he wasn’t entirely wrong about necromancy,” Zelda reminds her.

Margo nods, remembering what her mom told her in the Neitherlands. During the confrontation against King Rupert, her father had sacrificed his life to protect her mother. With the Wellspring, Mira was able to bring Raymond back in all forms except Shade, a mistake for which she paid dearly.

“He wasn’t,” Margo agrees. “But some magic shouldn’t be attempted.”

Though Zelda’s face remains stern, Margo picks up the hint of pride by the upticked corners of her mouth. Margo has missed speaking to Zelda, even if most of her interactions with the bookkeeper are more lectures than conversations. As a historian and a literal seer of the past, Zelda is generous about the knowledge she gives, a trait that Margo respects—even if it takes a while for Zelda to get to her point.

“You’re speaking like a true master magician,” Zelda says.

Margo inclines her head, accepting the compliment. “What does this have to do with Lipson?”

Instead of responding, Zelda stands up and touches the air with her hand to ensure her ward is still glowing. "Let's go back underground to finish our discussion," Zelda decides. "The ward won't hold forever."

“So why bother bringing me up here?”

“Sunlight,” Zelda states, unfazed by her bluntness. “All underground operatives need to resurface from time to time. I find it relaxing. Consider this a change in scenery.”

“Fair enough.” Margo shrugs and follows Zelda back the way they came.

They descend down the same manhole and close the lid over their head. Kady’s footsteps are nearby, far enough to give them the privacy to speak but close enough to intervene if something happens. After consulting an old-fashioned compass attached to her blazer’s inner pocket, Zelda points them to the right, where they continue walking side-by-side next to the aquifer that flows through the tunnels.

“Tell me more,” Margo says.

Zelda puts the compass back and continues her story. "During Mayakovsky's imprisonment under Rupert's orders, Lipson worked at Castle Blackspire as a court physician. Lipson was aware of Mayakovsky's identity, and she'd visit his cell at night. Mayakovsky wasn't under house arrest back then. This was before wards around the castle were set up. When Lipson was sent out to the battlefield to work at the front lines, she convinced a guard to free him.

"Their relationship was secret. Mayakovsky stayed in the Trickster Vaults underground and hid away in a secret bunker. Many parts of the vaults were converted to hospital units when the soldiers were too severely wounded to treat through one healing spell. That's where Mayakovsky stayed and helped, away from King Rupert's notice. Many soldiers ended up dying regardless, but the survivors had trouble controlling their magic."

“Because magic is tied to emotions, and they were traumatized?” Margo speculates.

"Yes. Under significant emotional distress, the soldiers' wounds festered in ways Lipson could not cure. The wounds were not physical injuries that she could detect. This was something else, deeply-buried but clearly distressing. In attempting to locate the wounds—with Mayakovsky's help—Lipson identified the presence of Shades in every magician."

Margo nods with no further comment and lets Zelda steer them toward a left turn up ahead. She can see where this story is going. Removing one’s Shade is a cop-out from having to care, but it’s tempting when the alternative is to suffer internally and not be able to do shit about it.

"In Lipson’s first attempt to fix these emotional wounds," Zelda continues, "she banished a soldier's Shade out of our world. The Shade was sent to the Underworld, but the soldier himself survived. That soldier is a Traveler, and his name is Gavin. Mayakovsky argued with Lipson over performing a procedure like this, which cannot be undone, but Lipson had performed dozens of these procedures by then. The rift caused them to break up, but the damage was done."

“Shit.”

“An appropriate sentiment.”

“I figured Mayakovsky knew something about Shades,” Margo says. “He talked about how magic is a great responsibility from time to time. How we have Shades because the Gods don’t trust us not to be selfish. He never told me he was responsible for discovering them.”

Zelda chuckles. “Mayakovsky is a great man, and an even greater magician, but he, like all people, has trouble owning up to memories that he considers shameful. So he went off into hiding after the break-up until your parents found him again.”

Zelda stops by an entrance in the middle of a tunnel, her story half-finished. Like the entryways to the Crater, this entrance, too, is illusioned to blend in to its surroundings. But the spell has already been lifted when Margo arrives. A metal door stands framed in the solid wall, locked by a large dial that requires a combination key. After instructing Margo to turn around—the less she knows, the better—Zelda unlocks the door and lets them in. Kady reveals herself once they are safely hidden inside.

The so-called bunker is more spacious than a cramped sleeping quarter with bunk beds. This place is more like a dormitory, and Margo is standing in what serves as both a living room and a kitchen, with three doors that lead to who knows what facilities. Judging by the fresh fruits on the counter and the lack of dust, this place is recently occupied.

“I’ll call the guys over. Should I give you some time alone?” Kady asks.

“Fifteen minutes,” Zelda says. “Thank you, Kady.”

Kady disappears behind one of the doors that, turns out, leads to a hallway. Margo and Zelda sit on a couch to finish their conversation.

“So Mayakovsky and Lipson broke up,” Margo says. “And he ran away again. And Lipson?”

"She continued to work as a healer by the battlefront for a short while. By that time, many of the Shadeless soldiers she'd healed were accepting their new reality. They felt they were liberated, no longer burdened by their conscience or their attachments. They felt no more obligation to fight in the name of magicians, so they abandoned their troops. Without Shades, they only care about themselves."

Margo connects the dots. “That’s why they call themselves the Deserters.”

Zelda nods. “The removal of Shades marks the origin of their philosophy. Freedom from authority and allegiance. But you and I both know true freedom doesn’t come from losing emotional touch with the world. Being Shadeless brings upon a different form of oppression. Just like the Reclamationists, of their goal to exceed the limits of human potential at the expense of sacrificing the freedom of magical children. To send these children to the king as tributes so they may continue their operation.”

“It’s all tyranny under different names.”

“I agree. The best thing we can do now is to eliminate the threat the Deserters pose to innocent children vulnerable to capture.”

“I know.” Margo sighs. “I can’t let them win.”

Zelda pats Margo on the shoulder in a rare display of physical affection. “Sheila and I forged our own paths after we left Everett. Fen’s mother broke free of the Deserters. If anyone can break the cycle on the side of the crown, Margo, it will be you.”

“No pressure.”

“The first step toward changing the world is acceptance, and you have embraced this better than most. I know because I’ve spoken to your friends. Alice told me you kept an open mind after she confessed to you about the source of her magic. You never rejected her for not being born with the gift, or feared her because she never acquired a Shade along with her power. Marina vouched for you, too.”

“But that’s different,” Margo argues. “I didn’t know Marina was a Deserter, or that she had no Shade. Mayakovsky told me that after she left.”

“And did that change how you feel about her?”

Margo shakes her head without needing to think. Many things about Marina made sense after Margo learned of her connections with Deserters, who had tried to kidnap Margo multiple times as a child. It was a good explanation for Marina’s unperturbed mannerism and the perfect stability of her magical performance, or her lack of fondness for “the warm and cuddly”—her words. But Margo’s last memory of Marina was her betraying Anna to protect Margo, even if it meant blowing her cover and fleeing the castle to live a life of uncertainty.

“It doesn’t. So what?”

"You accept people because you are willing to understand who they are beyond labels. The world needs a leader like you. You keep an open mind about magic and its consequences without abusing your own power for greed."

“Well, shit.” Margo leans back on the couch and sinks into the cushions. “I’ll try not to let the world down.”

"You have your friends for guidance, should you need their advice. And I am always open to more conversations."

“Thanks, Zelda.”

Before Zelda leaves Margo here to meet with the people Kady is bringing over, she tells Margo, “There is something else you should know about Lipson.”

"So, you didn't take me on a field trip just to teach me a moral lesson?" Margo banters.

Zelda gives Margo a tight-lipped smile and lets the sarcasm slide. “Many believe that Lipson died during the War, but few historians can agree on the circumstances surrounding her death—caught in a crossfire, or struck by a magical curse, or simply death by contagion. The truth is she still lives. I only found out recently.”

“The fuck?”

"Lipson saw an opportunity to escape when King Rupert was distracted. When he became bitter and enraged by his partner's death not long after the War ended. Lipson fled to another kingdom by stowing away on a ship. The Free Trader Beowulf has been attempting to locate her, to see if she can offer any insight into the Deserters so we can defeat them. Our searches have come to no avail… until the day of your father's death."

“Where is she now?”

"She has been living under Queen Agate's surveillance for some time. I suspect she fled to the Floating-Mountain and started a new life before her identity was exposed, and the queen captured her as a prisoner for her own agenda. I haven't received much detail—the information came from an anonymous source sent to my shop's messaging system. Whoever the sender is, they know of the Free Trader Beowulf's mission, but thankfully my rendezvous was the only location they were able to trace."

“What did the message say?”

“The message erased itself not long after I opened it. It said Lipson was alive and in the Floating-Mountain, held in detention indefinitely at Queen Agate’s castle. Queen Agate was in alliance with Irene McAllister. And both women were responsible for your father’s assassination—no specific details on their involvement or how they were able to get to the king when he’s under so much security.”

“You think Agate might lend her forces to Irene when I confront her?”

“Possibly. The Floaters have the Pentarchy’s biggest air force—geographically speaking, an air force is the best defense for a land that’s not grounded. Our kingdom’s forces, on the other hand, are mostly land-bound, plus a small navy. No defense in the skies.”

Wonderful. Margo has her father's arrogance to thank for the major fucking oversight. Sure, right now the kingdom is warded up the ass with runic formulas, but…

“Since Irene has clearance to operate the wards,” Zelda says the exact thing on Margo’s mind, “she may lift the restrictions to allow the Floaters in. And if you were to terminate Irene—”

“Then the ward goes, too? Fuck.”

“I think your best chance is to neutralize Irene without killing her. Or you could try negotiating with Queen Agate.”

Which is pointless. Queen Agate is no negotiator. Margo has one failed engagement and the blood of a dead Prince Micah on her hands to prove it.

“Unless some kind of leverage falls out of the sky to save my tits, I think I’ll go with option one,” Margo decides.

“I wouldn’t discount the possibility of Agate just yet.”

“Oh?”

“My anonymous source claims she has information regarding Queen Agate that could give you leverage in your negotiation. There was a postscript at the end of the message, but it’s rather vague,” Zelda tells her. “It said, _please await further instruction._ ”

* * *

Kady brings two dozen young men into the bunker after Zelda steps out to return to the Crater, all clad in black kevlar armor bearing the Stormhold coat of arms. They greet Margo with the warrior's salute, making fists and crossing their arms over their chest. Margo returns the salute, subtly glancing over their faces to place where she had seen them before. Something about them feels familiar, but she can't name any of the men.

“These men offer their assistance in your battle,” Kady introduces.

“Your Highness,” one man speaks out, stepping in front of his fellow soldiers, “we want to repay you for saving our lives.”

“Oh. I—okay,” Margo racks her brains for a way to politely admit she doesn’t remember shit, but draws a blank. “Here, umm... let’s sit down and talk this through?”

They seat themselves around the room following Margo’s lead, some on the floor when all the chairs and couches are taken. Kady joins Margo’s side and gives her a reassuring look when Margo turns to her for guidance. “It’s been a hard few days after what happened to the king,” Kady helps her out. “If you could introduce yourselves, we’d be happy to hear you out.”

“My name is Castor.” The same man speaks up again. He’s clean-shaven with curly ginger hair, boyish in stark contrast to the stern look on his face. “We do not expect you to remember us, Princess Margo. You have saved countless lives during your time as leader of the Junior Centurion Guards, and my own life is one in many. We offer gratitude for your timely rescue during our imprisonment at Lightharbor.”

The name brings back a memory, and Margo’s eyes widen in recognition. Lightharbor is a sea-bound town on the southwest of the kingdom. Margo went there on her fourth mission that she’d received after she established the Junior Centurion Guards. Back then, the Muntjac hadn’t revealed her capability of flight. After docking at the port at Lightharbor, Margo had informed her team of the invasion plan without a backup one in mind.

The intel had said there were only ten captives, which had been a fucking lie. Margo’s team had succeeded by the skin of their teeth, largely due to assistance from the prisoners they freed, but Margo, having overestimated her own strength, ended up with a mild concussion. Which was probably why she never remembered the faces of the guys she saved.

“I appreciate your gratitude, but I’m the princess. Protecting people is my job.”

“We are still indebted to you,” Castor insists. “Our division was all new recruits. We were inexperienced with combat, and we would have perished—or lost our Shades, at the very least.”

“You were part of the army when you got captured?”

“Wow, how hard did you hit your head on that mission?” Kady chimes in.

A few of the men chuckle at Kady’s remark, then stop themselves abruptly. Margo smiles and elbows Kady on the side gently, which breaks the tension in the room.

“Yes. We were the fifty-eighth division, newly recruited three months before our capture. The Deserters seized half of us during a patrol of the western coast. We all still serve in the Royal Army today,” Castor confirms, barely containing his own amused smile.

The men bear different insignia on their arms, indicating the experience they've gained in the years after their rescue. Castor's uniform bears one gold star on the left sleeve, the insignia of a lieutenant. Despite the youthfulness of his appearance, Castor is the highest-standing officer in the room, likely selected to speak on everyone's behalf because of his rank.

Margo nods numbly, bashful about the attention. The army was her father's responsibility, and in extension, hers. The worst part about the Lightharbor mission wasn't the number of captives, or the injury Margo sustained. It was the fact that the intel had sat in Irene's office for three days before she decided her direct reports were too good for the job, and passed the assignment down to Margo and twelve teenage boys. The Junior Centurion Guards had barely arrived in time before the soldiers could lose their Shades.

"I am grateful for your service. All of you," Margo says. "But I want you to know you are under no obligation to assist me in taking back my throne. If you wish to help, you can join forces with my former Centurion Guards and other allies, and serve as a backup. I suspect the duel with McAllister may blow out of proportions, no matter what the deal says."

“We wish to help,” Castor says, and all the other men echo his sentiment around the room.

Margo swallows back the lump in her throat that threatens tears—she may be grateful, but if she gets caught all touchy-feely, Kady will bring this up every solstice at the dinner table, something she wishes to avoid.

“It was you and your Centurion Guards who rescued us, not General McAllister”, Castor says. “We know that our lives matter to you more than they mattered to the General. You are the rightful ruler of our kingdom. We remain loyal to you, Princess Margo.”

“Thank you,” Margo says. “Your loyalty means more than I can say.”

Margo fills Kady and the young officers in on what Zelda had told her about the Floaters. Usually, such political scandals require discretion, but desperate times call for giving less fucks. The officers have gathered here with a plan already in action, a surprise that Kady has hidden well from Margo. Some members of the army are assigned to patrol the evacuated District of Ogygia. They are extracted from their posts in shifts, managed by the regional office in Ogygia. Two Wolfs are working in administrative roles at the regional office, and they have meddled with the schedules to put all these officers on duty on the day of the fall equinox. They will be in the area to intervene if all of the Underworld breaks loose during Margo's duel.

“How come I’ve never heard about the Wolfs in the army?” Margo asks.

“It was safer for you and the two Wolfs that way,” Kady says. “You were in Blackspire, and the walls have ears.”

Margo can’t argue with that. The surveillance in the castle is a fucking problem, and one she plans to prioritize fixing after she gets her crown back. Kady shrugs, looking sympathetic.

An alert chimes on Kady’s wristband as Margo and the officers finish planning. It’s a screenshot of a message forwarded by one of the Wolfs cleaning up the debris in Zelda’s wrecked bookshop. The anonymous sender is back with the so-called instructions, which they only send to Zelda’s system. At least the Wolfs’ messaging system remains secure, but the small relief this knowledge offers does nothing to calm Margo’s nerves when she reads the message:

_Today. Room 203, the Hare in the Ass tavern on Wildfaire. 6:00 P.M._

This time, the sender leaves a name.

_— Nemesis._

* * *

The air smells like burning coal, which tells Margo that she and Fen are close to their destination. They arrive at the town of Wildfaire without needing to consult the orange neon sign across the arch overhead. After receiving the anonymous message, Margo and Kady had left the soldiers at the bunker to return to the Crater, where Fen learned of the anonymous-note situation and volunteered herself to come along as Margo's escort.

Fen’s hand squirms in Margo’s grasp as the pedestrian street comes into view, aghast at the sheer volume of the drunken occupants’ singing as they stumble around the pedestrian zone. Margo marches on without a pause, touching her cheek once to reassure herself. She feels the rubbery texture of the dried gold-and-silver paint streaked across her eyes and cheekbones in the pattern of a butterfly, the perfect disguise for her to blend in among the partying citizens in festival garbs.

Wildfaire is a long strip of land on the northeast side of the kingdom that cuts halfway across the land's width and ends before the docks by the ocean on the east side. Eliot had once remarked that Wildfaire was an architectural metaphor for "a booze-infested serenade that hikes all the way off the fucking pier". But beyond its reputation as the birthplace of hedonism, Wildfaire is also the hub of the Deserters' operations. Margo and her Centurion Guards had spent every other mission in this Gods-forsaken patch of land, so she is no stranger to overwhelming assaults on her senses, but she turns to check on her escort and finds Fen cringing at the sight of… well, everything.

With Zelda's help, and the illusion scroll the bookkeeper had been reading at breakfast, Margo and Fen show up in disguise, fully hidden in an enchanted costume complete with a face-painted mask. They tread the ground with delicate steps, careful not to step on the sweeping cloaks with intricate vine-like embroidery throughout. The embroidery camouflages the runes sewn on the fabric with magical threads of the same color, which enchants people to forget they ever saw the wearer.

It’s a shame no one will remember how beautiful Fen looks under this spell.

But they can't be too careful. This mission is riskier than a simple stakeout. Margo and Fen are here to meet Nemesis—the note-sender, but also, perhaps, the knight in a purple helmet who crossed paths with both of them on the night of Margo's escape. So underneath the disguise, Margo and Fen remain protected in the kevlar armor they borrowed from the Nimbus Stadium if Nemesis turns out violent. The carnival disguise is completed by the butterfly pattern that obscures the face, which they paint on themselves in colors that match their cloaks.

When the Gods were around, this town had been Bacchus' pride and joy, an uproar of worship for the deity who thrives off of the energy from human exhilaration. There were different themes to the parties every week, though Bacchus would never announce when one party ended and the next began. The only indication that someone was out of place was when they got booted out for being boring. The parties were never black-tie events, though, so after a few hundred years, all costumes became part of the town's appropriate dress code. Back when the Junior Centurion Guards were on a mission, Margo and the boys would drop in from the sky on the Muntjac; on stakeouts, she would dress like she does now, strutting past the barbecue stalls and the restaurants in various disguises, her hand in Eliot's.

But enough nostalgia. Margo and Fen are on a job, and considering the circumstances of Margo's escape from her coronation days ago, it's best to finish quickly and get the fuck out. Fen crashes into Margo as a conga line of shirtless men pushes past them, marching to the beats of an unnamed orchestra playing on a hovering speaker drone overhead.

“Sorry,” Fen whispers.

Margo releases her hold on Fen’s hand and pulls Fen closer by the waist, ignoring the warmth of Fen’s body sheltered beneath the velvet of her cloak. “Stick closer to me. I won’t bite.”

She steers Fen forward, shaking her head at various offers of skewered mystery-meat and shot glasses filled with concoctions that promised trippy visions and a lousy hangover the next morning. They duck through three more hordes of dancing drunks and ignore shouted protests by people on the rooftops who insist they’re no fun.

Wildfaire is not known for its grandiose architecture. Most buildings are only five stories high and predictably rectangular with flat roofs, the bricked walls sand-colored, the windows square. The first floor is always a storefront of some kind, all part of the same local economy that magically supplies itself without fear of anyone going broke. Umber, a historically renowned stick-in-the-mud, had been the God who built this region, but it was eventually abandoned when he moved on to his next perfect construction. People had painted the walls with graffiti over the years before they stuck posters and flyers and random shit on top like too much icing on a basic sponge cake.

The meeting point is unmistakable, a wooden tavern standing at the end of their route like a roadblock. The tavern is painted entirely white and built like a barn with a gambrel roof. Margo stops in front of it. “We have to go through. No other way around.”

Realistically, the road goes on much longer than a five-minute walk, but the illusion of the pub was cast by Bacchus himself, and unlike human-cast illusions, the spell doesn’t fade when people learn to expect it.

“ _The Hare on the Ass_?” Fen reads the hand-painted sign by the door.

“Aptly named once you see the inside.”

Miraculously, it’s quieter in here, but any relief Margo feels is shattered when she sees every patron staring. Margo and Fen are the only ones in costume here, and the only women. The dudes are dressed like actual normal people, except for the hungry glower in their eyes as they size up the newcomers. The tables and chairs are rearranged in the center of the room to form larger tables for poker, or arm-wrestling, or lined-up shot glasses with pink gelatin inside. At the bar top are hefty bronzes in stacks, waiting to be claimed.

Umber’s balls, it’s game night. The one time this tavern is full of cocks.

“Care for a drink, little lady?” someone asks in a slimy voice.

Margo searches for the sound of the shameless cock and finds a beanpole of a man with a toothy grin. He's the nephew, what's-his-face, who runs the tavern when his uncle's out of town. Beanpole winks, and Margo swallows her retort, closing her fists and crunching the frost that has gathered in her palm. _No ice daggers. Not a good time for ice daggers._

“Not in the mood,” Margo says, careful to keep her voice lower in case someone remembers what the princess sounds like.

She grabs Fen and tows them toward the stairs around the back in large strides. Another man _ooh_ 's behind them, and a third gives a whistle. Margo is too wired to give these other cocks a piece of her mind, but Fen guffaws at the connotation, the sound of her voice buried by the jeering crowd, and Margo smiles despite the impending cock trouble. Three seconds later, Margo's mood spoils again when a fourth cock steps in front of their way, blocking the way up the steps. This one has the biceps of a wrestler and used to shadow behind the owner's nephew every time Margo had visited in the past. Fen breathes in slowly beside Margo.

“No shots, no service,” Biceps says.

“We got a reservation,” Margo insists.

“Ain’t no reservations up there tonight, sweetheart.”

Fuck you, Nemesis.

"Not yet, there isn't," Fen interrupts them both and pulls out a knife with a painted black handle from her belt. She twirls it once in her hand and points the tip at the corked board with the bullseye on the backside of the tavern's door, a bigger one made for throwing knives and stilettos instead of darts. "I'll play for myself _and_ my friend here. Best two out of three.”

It would be satisfying to see Fen beat Biceps and his cock back to Ember’s rear, but the more attention they draw to themselves, the more they become a target for the Deserters or Reclamationists trying to hunt them down. Margo shakes her head and steps in front of Fen. She traces a rune in the air that translates to _shadow_ , and touches it with her hand once it glows. In the clutch of her fist, the spell activates, sucking all the light out of the tavern.

Margo finds Fen's hand in the dark and grabs on tight, then elbows the men blocking the staircase and knocks them aside. They make it onto the second-floor landing, and Margo casts another rune for _silence_. The light is still on upstairs, so they find room 203 and step in. Mayakovsky would’ve been proud of her increased finesse.

Fen tugs on Margo’s hand. “Won’t they come after us?”

“Enchanted cloak, remember?” Margo lets go of her and shuts the door. “Out of their sight, out of their mind.”

Room 203 is an unoccupied space with too much dust and no furniture except an overhead fluorescent light. No one is waiting inside. The clock on Fen’s wristband says 6:05. They were late, but Nemesis is, too, if she’s showing up at all.

“Give it until 6:15?” Fen asks.

“Make it 6:10.” Margo decides. The last thing she needs is a trap.

Neither of them sits on the floor. Fen and Margo's footprints are the only disturbance in the room, which seems to have been left unoccupied for some time. Fen's right hand is resting against her belt, her finger drumming against the handle of her prized dagger, and Margo gathers frost at her fingertips, feeling her hands warm up as she prepares to lash out with sharp ice picks. They don't wait long before a purple-and-black silhouette phases from the wall, pushing through the solid bricks like they're made of hologram pixels. 

“Ah, ah, ah—” Nemesis raises two gloved hands over her head and tuts her tongue— “I promised I’d come unarmed. You could do me the same courtesy, Queenie-and-her-friend. Hands up.”

Margo scoffs but decides to oblige. Fen follows suit, giving Margo an uneasy look. Despite every magical and physical instinct telling Margo to attack, Margo holds her magic in. Curiosity might be the death of her, but she’ll gamble it since Nemesis is outnumbered.

“You’re a phaser,” Margo says.

An answer clicks in Margo’s mind as she studies the lady in front of her. Phasers can walk through solid objects unless there is an anti-phasing ward in place. Blackspire had one of such wards, but Blackspire also had Irene in its walls. Her father’s killer was no Traveler.

Fen points at Nemesis, careful to still keep both hands raised. “You!”

“I see you two have met,” Margo comments, looking between them. She fixes her eyes on the visor of Nemesis’ helmet, trying to gauge her features through the darkened screen.

“She brought me to the shop where I found you.” Fen stands closer to Margo and looks back at the helmeted stranger. “She told me you were in danger.”

“You were stalking me?”

Nemesis takes a step behind and leans back against the wall. She tilts her head, relaxed, and dips into the solid surface ever-so-slightly. "I was at the Castle," she says in a lofty voice, "Saw you sneaking out before your coronation, so I thought I'd help you make it to your little Wolf friends. Now, ask your question. I know you want to. Don't be shy."

Margo grits her teeth. “Who the fuck are you?”

Without hesitation, Nemesis removes her helmet. She is stern-faced with a pointy nose and brown eyes, lightly freckled around the cheekbones. Her eyebrows are tinted dark and shaped to perfect arches. Nemesis smiles and raises one brow at Margo and Fen, relishing the attention of their scrutiny. Blonde roots peek beneath her brown hair, fixed into a perfect ballerina bun at the crown of her head. She looks younger than Margo expects but jaded at the same time, like a woman in her early thirties with the experience of someone twice her age.

“You mean, you don’t see the resemblance?” Nemesis continues to tease. She clears her throat and growls in a deeper voice, “ _I hate you. I hate all of you.”_

Margo startles at the tone, but knows where the woman’s mockery had come from. Mayakovsky had said it during combat training to Margo and the other kids hand-picked to be future soldiers. Margo remembers seeing her friends cower in her teacher’s presence and wondering if Mayakovsky freaked them out more than the Reclamationists who had bounty-hunted them.

“My name,” Nemesis continues, noticing Margo’s frown, “is Natasha Mayakovsky. Your beloved teacher is my father. And no, he doesn’t know about me.”

“Eleanor Lipson was your mother, wasn’t she?” Margo realizes.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know.” Natasha smiles this time, her purple lips twitching from one corner. “My mother didn’t die in the War. She left for the Floating-Mountain before she knew she had me. Eight months later, I was born among the Floaters, a shining little token of her old life of wartime trauma.”

Natasha lowers her hands slowly down her sides and rolls her shoulders back to release the tension in her arm muscles. Margo sucks in a breath but decides the same, and Fen copies them, keeping an uneasy watch on the assassin. To draw as little attention to the Free Trader Beowulf as possible, Margo acts surprised at the confirmation that Lipson still lives—there’s no reason to give away how much Zelda knows.

“Why are you here?” Margo asks.

Natasha pries off the glove of her right hand and shows them her palm. By the fading light of dusk coming from the window, Margo can see scars that form three overlapping half-circles with runes along the edges, and the slightly raised skin where the mark had been branded into her flesh. Natasha had been bound by a Word as Bond. Does the Bond involve killing the king? Is the job done, or are there other fated victims?

“I meant what I said about not coming to hurt you,” Natasha says. “I came to warn you about Irene McAllister. Not about her siege, or your impending challenge for the throne, mind you. She’s got worse things planned in her diabolical regime.”

“You came to tell me to pussy up and end her?”

“Well, you should.” Natasha gives a half-shrug. “But no. I came to tell you I was sent to kill your father by Queen Agate. The queen wants vengeance for what your father did to her husband sixteen years ago. But she wasn’t working alone.”

Again, none of that is surprising. 

Fen glances at Margo before speaking up, “You came to confess?”

Natasha still fixes her eyes on Margo. "I came to offer you an out, princess. With your father out of the way, Agate wants to make you marry Fomar, bring back the old plan. King Raymond had broken the deal, but a dead man's word won’t matter much in the face of a new proposal. Agate needed your father out of the way so she could force this alliance on your kingdom again. She threatened my mom. I did what I had to."

“Let me guess,” Margo plays along, pretending Zelda hasn’t already informed her of Irene’s treachery, “the walls have ears, and McAllister's a nosy bitch?”

“What makes you suspect her?”

Margo pauses to keep Natasha on her toes. "Not many magicians know shit about runes today. The hand-gestures, the Language of the Gods… But McAllister studied runes religiously, and Word as Bonds are full of them."

“You’re a smart girl.” Natasha narrows her eyes. “I’m sorry I had to kill your father—he was a deplorable man, don’t get me wrong, but I hold no grudges against you.”

“Irene’s the one who lifted the wards to let you through?” Margo asks.

Natasha nods. "If it's any consolation, you're not on my hit-list. Sure, I'd run away before you could catch me, but right now, you're not in a position to throw me into the dungeons or have me executed, so. You're welcome for the warning. If you'll excuse me—"

“Wait,” Margo interrupts.

Fen frowns, but Margo shakes her head. _Trust me._

It's rash to let Natasha go, but taking prisoners is a far worse option when Margo is hiding out in a vigilante organization's headquarters. There's no way Natasha will let herself stay in captivity underneath the Crater, and when she frees herself, she’ll become one extra problem. If they share a mutual enemy, Natasha may be willing to help Margo in exchange for her freedom.

“Tell me one thing, and I’ll let you walk out of here as a free bitch. No wanted posters, no royal troops,” Margo decides. “Tell me everything you remember. Every fucking word: what were the terms of your Word as Bond?”

* * *

Natasha disappears the way she came after she gives Margo an answer, phasing into the wall and out of sight. The exact wording of the Bond has shifted the scales in Margo's favor, but before she acts, she'll talk things over with the Wolfs—and with Fen. With Natasha gone, the room is quiet to the point of unsettling. Wooden houses aren't soundproof, but at some point during the meeting, the men downstairs had stopped cheering without Margo and Fen's notice.

Fen tip-toes to the door of room 203 and hesitates. The suspicion is clear on her face when she turns back to Margo. How long have they been in this room? What happened to the noise?

When the front entrance breaks open, the impact shakes the building's foundation and forces Fen back. They dart to the window without needing to voice their panic, both searching for an alternative way out. But the bolt on the window frame is rusted with age like everything else in this damned place. Fen hacks at the joint that holds the lock in place, trying to break the window open, but it refuses to budge.

Instead of the window, it's the door that breaks in this room, blasted right off its hinges by a calculated burst of fire that does not enter the room. A woman stands in flames without burning. Margo recognizes her by the blue eyes and the pointed chin, but most of all, by the smirk she wears as she beckons Margo and Fen to follow.

“Gavin’s here,” Marina says, spinning a wide tunnel through the fire that now engulfs the entire hallway. “Someone snitched. Come on!”

Margo takes Fen's hand and runs with no direction in mind, led only by the parting of the flames at Marina's command. When they come to a dead-end, Marina pushes past them and breathes in deep before she punches the wall with a fiery fist and blasts a hole in the side of the building. Marina jumps first and cushions her fall with a boost of fire from the bottom of her feet. Margo follows by creating a steep ice slide, which Fen jumps onto without needing to consult her.

A small group of spectators has gathered on the street, but most witnesses are too high out of their minds to care about the burning building. Margo vanishes the slide before anyone can follow, then whips her hand toward the hole in the building to cover it with a slab of ice, hoping to delay the inevitable chase. Marina is already leading the way with a right turn, but Fen waits for Margo to catch up. They gather the hem of their fancy cloaks under their arms as they run.

Their escape comes to a halt when a Traveler blips into the middle of the road and releases two bursts of electricity from a glove on his hand—the shocks land on Margo and Fen due to the element of surprise. A tingle runs through the base of Margo's neck and jolts her like a sharp burst of static following his spell, leaving her fingertips numb so she can't retaliate with magic. Gavin has found them, like Marina says. Someone from the tavern must've been a psychic. They must've snitched telepathically before Margo snuffed out the lights and made everyone forget.

Likewise affected by the shock from the electrified glove, Fen groans in pain and falls to a kneel on the ground after the shock passes. Marina reacts before Gavin can make his next move by throwing a jet of fire aimed at his chest. He ducks out of the way, and Marina gives Gavin a swift kick on the nuts.

Fen unsheathes a dagger from her belt and throws it at Gavin at a low angle. The blade embeds itself in Gavin’s shin, forcing him to topple to the side and support his weight with both hands. These distractions give the trio time to break away again, and Margo and Fen follow Marina’s lead down a left turn, where they cut through the path behind the backside of a row of buildings.

“Get in.” Marina opens an unlocked backdoor halfway down the block.

They duck into the building, which turns out to be an abandoned factory. The interior is three stories high to accommodate the now-deactivated machines and conveyor belts. Arched windows face the front side of the factory, the glass obscured by an old film of frosted vinyl peeling at the edges. Marina tosses them an amulet each, then puts one over her neck and fades into the background like a chameleon.

The window shatters as Margo and Fen attempt to put on their own invisibility amulets, and a large gray bird of no known species rips through the frosted vinyl film, heading for the three women standing at the back. Fen unsheathes a dagger from her belt and throws it, but the bird transforms into a raven, using its dwindled size to avoid being stabbed. It returns to its larger form and grabs the chain of Fen’s invisibility amulet before she can put it on.

The bird transforms back into a human figure and grabs Fen by the neck, and Margo comes face to face with Everett sneering back at her. Marina readies a fireball in her hand.

“I wouldn’t,” Everett says. “Unless you want to burn your friend to a crisp.”

Margo and Marina stand down as Everett backs up a few steps with Fen in his arms. Fen reaches for another knife to pull from her belt with her hand hidden beneath her cloak, but before Fen can unsheathe her choice of weapon, Everett transforms her into a small bunny rabbit.

Everett turns his back with rabbit-Fen cradled in his hands. Margo reaches out to freeze him in ice, but he shapeshifts into his weird bird form again and shatters out of the bond. With Fen secured in his talons, he flies back out the window that he broke through. Marina’s fireballs barely singe the tip of his wings, as there’s no way to make a fatal strike without hurting Fen.

“Get your amulet on,” Marina instructs, already headed for the factory’s front door.

“So, bird chase?” Margo runs after her, now invisible, too. She picks up Fen’s dagger on her way out and makes a scabbard of ice around the blade before pocketing it inside her cloak.

Marina searches for bird-Everett in the sky and finds him a few blocks overhead to the East. “Fuck. I wish I’d brought a hoverboard.”

They run, hoping to catch up to Everett, but two women can't outrun a giant fantastical bird on foot. Margo continues down the path anyway—any lead on where Fen is headed is better than nothing—and racks her brain for locator spells. She doesn't have a sample of Fen's blood, and Fen's prized possessions—her knives—are with her person. Fuck. If only Margo knows how to track her by her spirit, something intangible.

“‘Wait!” Margo calls out. Marina does as she says and stops. Catching her breath, Margo points to Marina’s communication wristband. “Penny. Astral project. Find her.”

To Margo’s relief, Marina understands. “I’ll call him.”


	13. Enchanted

_All magic had its limits, and Harriet had dedicated most of hers to protect Wall itself. The amulets that Fen and Julia wore were only effective against magicians. They were followed on their way home from Wishmaster Square after a bountiful day of twenty knives sold, fully visible to most citizens of the nation._

_“I’d like to make a deal.”_

_Fen froze at the sound of the man’s voice but couldn’t place where she’d heard it last. Once she turned around, she recognized Baylor, the eerily charming face of a clean-shaven man in his early twenties that commands respect. His hair was gelled back and immaculately styled, his smile swoon-worthy._

_For the assassination of Queen Ru five years ago, many FU fighters were tried and imprisoned. But Baylor, the leader of this group of extremists, was found innocent of all charges. Some suspect Baylor and President McAllister had an alliance that allowed him to go free, a bond forged from a shared hatred of magicians._

_“We’re not interested,” Julia said, taking Fen’s hand and leading them away._

_They quickened their pace, but judging by the shadows under their feet, Baylor was on their heels. Every corner they turned, he followed, until they were a five minutes' walk from their village. Julia halted before decidedly nodding in the opposite direction from Wall, hoping to throw Baylor off-trail._

_Eventually, he cut in front of them and turned back to face them, blocking their way on a narrow path. There was that smile again, and it made Fen's skin crawl. "I wouldn't count me out too quickly. Fen, is it? And Julia. You're from Wall, aren't you?"_

_Fen’s hand tightened against Julia’s hold, but she held his gaze and said nothing._

_“What do you want, a knife?” Fen asked, hoping she sounded more nonchalant than she felt._

_“Perhaps next time. It might be useful for what I have planned.”_

_Julia narrowed her eyes at that._

_"I know not everyone shares my philosophy against magicians. And I am aware of your affiliations with such people," Baylor uttered the last two words like they were a curse. "But currently, I believe we have a common interest."_

_“We have nothing in common,” Julia said, turning around. Fen does the same. “Now if you’ll excuse us--”_

_“I beg to differ,” Baylor interrupts. He swings around to cut off their path again. “Please, two minutes, and if you say no by the end, I’ll leave you be.”_

_Julia and Fen exchanged a look. Fen frowned, already considering which knife to pull on him if shit went south. “You get one,” Julia said._

_Baylor held up his hands in surrender but didn't challenge her. He spoke quickly, "Alright. I heard about what happened to your friend--Josh Hoberman? He was seized by Everett's people, wasn't he? You don't have to answer. I'm here to offer my services, and assistance from my allies. We know there are still Reclamationists roaming about Filmore. Everett was the biggest snake in a hundred, maybe a thousand._

_“I received information on the location of a nearby base of operations. It’s in Caldera City, an hour’s ride away. My people monitor the comings and goings of the Stormhold border. We have been for years. We share a common enemy, and if you help me and my men defeat whoever is inside that base, we’ll let you two access the information the FU fighters have, anything that might help you find your friend. Maybe you can track down the vehicle that your friend was in when they took him.”_

_“No,” Fen said immediately._

_Julia tugged her on the arm. “Fen,” she whispered, “maybe we can talk this over? In private?”_

_Fen hadn’t expected it from Julia. Sure, she hated the Reclamationists, but the FU fighters went against everything Josh stood for. His magic, the power that made him who he was. If, after all their anti-magic sentiments and rebellions, the FU fighters were willing to make Josh an exception in the name of leverage, they couldn’t be trusted._

_Too late, Fen realized Baylor was watching her and Julia intently, analyzing their every unspoken cue. “I understand you need time to process.” He addressed Julia now, turning his gaze to her. He had noticed her hesitation. Fen moved her hand closer to where her knives were holstered on her belt. “Tell you what--if you agree to help us, find me at Lemrose Bridge at noon, day after tomorrow. If you don’t show up by one o’clock, I’ll leave, and I won’t bother you again.”_

_Baylor walked away before Fen could unsheathe her dagger and persuade him to scram with the pointy end of a sharp blade. Julia stayed silent for the rest of their walk. Fen gave her the space she needed, gave her a quick kiss by the museum, and said goodnight before heading home. The next morning they went hunting for squirrels, and Julia was back to her quick-witted self. She'd told Fen she was right--the FU fighters couldn't be trusted._

_Two weeks later, Fen would find out Julia had gone behind her back and agreed to Baylor’s deal, and they would argue, and it would break them._

* * *

The caravan rides along a bumpy dirt road, rattling the cage inside which Fen is trapped in her bunny form. The Reclamationists are making a shortcut through a forest or a riverside, somewhere without paved lanes for vehicles. Still, it's impossible to deduct when the caravan's two windows are boarded shut.

Everett sits by Fen’s side in human form and peers into her eyes, his mouth in a snarl and his tongue licking his lips. He is humorless despite the whimsicality of his magic. Two people are at the front, driving the caravan, but Everett is in here alone with her. Fen twitches her nose and cowers into a corner of the cage, uncertain if the hunger in his eyes is literal. If he’s able to shapeshift into animals, does it affect his appetite? Could he still see Fen as prey through the eyes of a wolf, even if he’s currently in human form?

Where are her knives when she needs them?

“You’re not the first human I’ve had to transform,” Everett says, eyes still fixed on her. “It’s a very useful discipline, shapeshifting. Creatures like you don’t draw attention or screech for help—you can try, of course, but the caravan’s soundproof, so I wouldn’t bother. The biggest advantage is your mind. I’ve perfected my power over the years. Consider yourself lucky. You won’t start thinking like a rabbit for hours. Meanwhile, I know you can understand me.”

Great. Everett may think like a wolf, but he does not talk like one. Fen would much prefer howling to monologues. Then again, his boastful tendencies are the least of her worries.

“I think I’ve captured your likeness in your wanted poster. Don’t you agree? I got a good look at you the other day at Tomes and Riddles. The wall-walker got in my way, but I knew you’d resurface.”

So it was Everett who had convicted Fen and accused her of conspiring against King Raymond. If Fen was in human form, she might have laughed, but for the moment, she settles for faint chitters, which Everett regards with disdain. The Deserters may have given up on Fen's mother. Depriving her father of Freya's existence may have tormented him enough, and living with the aftermath of her father's terrible decisions was Fen's punishment.

"My original plan had worked as well as I'd hoped. I used the Hoberman boy to lure you in. Made him a traitor to his new kingdom to up the stakes. Someone is protecting you in your little village. The illusion is so powerful I can feel it from across the wall, skimming the wards' surface. I suppose I could have had my men circle the entire border until they break the spell, but sometimes a problem fixes itself, and yours did. You and your friends had to leave the village eventually. And with the Free Trader Beowulf. You so-called saviors are so predictable."

Everett is leaning so close to the cage that his eyes are crossing. He doesn’t see the semi-transparent visitor who appears behind him, but Fen notices out of the periphery of her understandably limited bunny-vision. The visitor is an astral-projection form of Penny, staring at Everett’s back with a confused look. Fen recognizes him by the vest and the dark stubble on his chin, but she lowers her head, not wanting Everett to catch her looking.

_Penny,_ Fen thinks, concentrating hard. If her human mind is intact like Everett says, a psychic should still be able to pick up her thoughts. _Penny. It’s Fen. I’m the bunny. The bunny is Fen. It’s me._

“I’m impressed, I admit. No-one has slipped from me more than twice, but it took me three attempts to catch you.”

Penny nods before he turns around and walks through the wall of the caravan like a ghost.

"The cage is steel. Don't try to nibble your way out." Everett moves back, his nose no longer an inch away from Fen's cage. "You and your girlfriend owe me a debt. Now's the time to repay me. The illusions around your village will crumble at your presence. Wall is your home. Whoever is so desperate to protect you, they will allow you to come back at any time. You're going to take us to Julia, and we're going to clear your debt—your two lives as payback for Cyrus and Phyllis' deaths by your hands."

The caravan skids to a halt, then collides against whatever vehicle has been towing it along the road. Two people scream outside before they choke to silence. Jagged slabs of earth pierce through the bottom of the caravan, securing it in place. Someone breaks in from the back. Everett, who is about to transform, gets hit with a sheet of metal that used to be the caravan's backdoor. It jams him between the door and a corner of the caravan. Kady stands at the opening with a smirk and one leg still in the air from kicking the door down.

“The only debt you’re going to clear is your filthy conscience,” Kady says.

In the corner, Everett shapeshifts into a baby rattlesnake and slithers to the hole at the bottom of the caravan where the sharp rocks had punched through. He finds an opening and slips through before Kady can close the gap with another shard of rock. Outside, Penny stomps hard on the ground in pursuit, trying to crush rattlesnake-Everett under his shoes. He shows up by the back of the caravan a minute later with a frustrated groan.

“Fuck shapeshifters,” he declares.

Snorting, Kady picks up the cage with bunny-Fen and tucks it underneath one arm and walks out. They're in the middle of a forest. The caravan had been towed alongside a dirt road by a spherical hovercraft. Fen recognizes it as a copy of the marble hovercraft she had used to make her way into Stormhold, which her father had engineered and sold to anonymous, morally questionable buyers.

Kady punches Penny hard on the shoulder once before leading the way through the thicket of trees. “Not a bad idea. They _are_ flexible.”

* * *

Kady and Penny, along with a fluffy, cuddly version of Fen, emerge from the forest after a long trek. Fen has been released from her cage not long after she was broken out of the caravan. Now she is cradled in Kady's hands, and despite the predicament that is her animal transformation, she has to admit it feels rather cozy to be held like this.

Once out of the woods, they are greeted by a river flowing toward the south. Fen peers through Kady’s fingers, visually tracing the river’s flow northward, to where a waterfall glistens under the glow of the waning moon. Penny points out the waterfall and checks his wristband before leading the way over. Kady follows, walking upstream, but she lifts the hand she had placed on top of Fen earlier and holds the bunny in both palms so Fen can get a better look.

In the safety of Kady’s hands, Fen continues to stare in awe at the landscape before her. The river is clear, nearly transparent, even with her bunny-vision. At the bottom of the river are smooth pebbles that glow lilac and blue, each carved with a rune Fen doesn’t recognize from Julia’s lessons. Fish and tadpoles dart along the currents, their silhouettes resembling shadows. Fen watches the little creature the whole way, her ears perked to the distant croaking of frogs and squealing of otters downstream.

“Cool, isn’t it?” Kady asks in a voice that doesn’t disturb the tranquility around her, ducking her head low so Fen could hear her. “No need to worry about being overheard. This place is a sanctuary—the river, the banks, the waterfall—see those rune pebbles? Took Vic and me three months to carve enough to ward the whole river segment. Wait ‘till you see the shit we had to do behind the waterfall.”

“Are you talking to her?” Penny stops.

“You heard her thinking earlier, asshole. That means she understands.”

As confirmation, Fen nuzzles Kady’s fingers with her nose.

Penny does not acknowledge the confirmation, and picks up his pace once more. “Just hurry up. Get her under the water.”

Kady rolls her eyes in Fen's view before she continues on beside Penny. Fen gives Kady's hand another nuzzle in appreciation before they step into the river to tread to the waterfall. It's nice to be talked to, even if she can do little more than a purr.

They walk through the waterfall and into the rock shelter that lies beneath it, soaked and shivering. A pulse of energy washes over Fen, jolting her mind to full alert. More magic?

Kady passes Fen to Penny and pushes her hands against the erodible rock at the back of the shelter, then closes her eyes and breathes in. A tunnel penetrates the boulder and leads to the center of the earth. Penny walks in first and lets Kady cover the rear to close their entryway behind as they go.

When they're completely surrounded by earth, Penny casts a rune to give them light, and Fen studies the tunnel walls. Their surfaces are rough, with harder rocks poking out. Kady's magic must have cut through the softest bits of rock possible to avoid earth through the softest sheets of rocks possible to avoid a cave-in, an astounding mastery of terramancy on her part.

After a long distance of near-darkness, they walk into a permanent tunnel that brings them to a shelter supported by metallic shells. The shelter's door opens, and the woman who rescued Fen and Margo at the tavern earlier peers out. Her gaze darts to the bunny resting on Penny's palm, and she chuckles. "Good thing you found the waterfall. Everett's petty ass would've held that transformation 'till morning." Then, lowering herself to Fen's level, "I'm Marina. You can introduce yourself when you're human again."

They walk into an underground space, a versatile room with folded partition panels leaning against the wall. Each quarter of the room has a different purpose: on one, couches and a wall-mounted telescreen; another, a kitchenette and a bar table; the third, bunk beds in front of a small bathroom; and finally, a conferencing space. The room is furnished ironically with celestial-themed decor, a wry sense of humor typical of the Wolfs.

Fen is surrounded by dark blue walls with a scatter of glow-in-the-dark constellations across, but she is not looking at the stars.

Margo, who has been pacing around the room, turns at the sound of the new arrivals. Eyes wide, she rushes from her seat to take Fen from Penny, who mutters a quick “goodnight” before blipping away.

Margo's face speaks of worry, and Fen nudges her palm in comfort before taking a closer look. Margo is still wearing the paint that disguises her, but she has taken off the cloak. The gold and silver streaks across her face make her glow brighter than the stars in the backdrop of this room. Fen had been too overwhelmed by Wildfaire earlier to appreciate how pretty she looks.

Kady hands Margo a towel and guides them to a loveseat near the small radiator at the corner. “Fluff her up and keep her toasty. She’ll turn back in an hour.”

“Is she hurt?” Margo asks.

“She’s fine. Probably shaken.” Kady winks and walks away to join Marina at the bunk beds on the other side, ignoring Margo’s glower. “Use a partition. It’s soundproof.”

* * *

As suggested, Margo pulls a partition through her section of the room to divide the space. She turns on a lamp on the sofa table that's shaped like a full moon. Fen watches her from the loveseat where she has been set, cursing the remaining hour she has to wait before she's human again. Trekking through the woods like a bunny has been fun, but now she wants to speak. There is so much they need to discuss from their conversation with Natasha, which was cut short by two other bands of outlaws out for their blood, people they had overlooked with the fall equinox looming closer.

Amid all the clusterfuck this evening, they also hadn't addressed their kiss at the Nimbus Stadium last night. Fen isn't sure which problem she'd rather discuss first.

Margo picks up Fen and lies sideways on the loveseat, her legs dangling off one armrest and her head propped up by the other. Then she sets Fen to lie on top of her stomach. Fen nibbles the fabric of Margo’s tank top. Despite her clarity of mind, she is overcome with instincts to—she doesn’t even know.

"There's been an update to your rescue-Hoberman operation," Margo starts. She strokes Fen's back, accepting her bunny-like display of affection. "So we found Q, and your mom, and Hoberman, who was your original target, right? Obviously, Penny will get stuck outside the wards if he Travels them to Filmore. But Quentin reminded me about a little loophole, something you two discussed back in the Neitherlands. The Muntjac."

Margo tilts her head forward to look Fen in the eye. Fen lowers her head, hoping her nod is perceptible, and sees Margo grin. “The Muntjac was crafted from Stormhold’s sentient trees, so she’s an honorary citizen. But she’s a ship. So say the Muntjac is outside the ward right now, which it is. The boys took her out north again, but Eliot stayed behind. The plan is, Penny travels himself onto her deck and takes your friends and your mom with him. From there, zap, back to Filmore. He’ll find your village from your memories, ‘cause he was in your head the other day.

"It'll be a stroke of good luck, if you're into that. To bring me positive energy, or whatever the fuck it's called. Maybe the luck will rub off on me so I won't, you know, die. And if not, at least your mom and your friends will be safe."

Fen imagines the escape plan and sees no fault in the logistics. The plan should work, except Margo hasn’t mentioned her.

“I was going to send you back with them,” Margo continues. “But the choice is yours. I’m not your princess, or your queen, so I can’t order you to do shit. Plus, Marina got all up in my face about it and said it’d be a dick move regardless of your citizenship. And you’re not going to take my orders anyway.”

It's a shame that bunnies can't roll their eyes. Fen decides to nudge her nose firmly against Margo's stomach in some semblance of an assertion. It will have to do until she can change back to give Margo the full lecture about not pushing friends away. Friends, or whatever undefined closeness they have now.

“Right. That’s what I thought.” Taking the hint, Margo gives Fen a gentle pat on the back before Fen can headbutt her midsection again.

"Here's the thing. I'm scared to let you choose 'cause I know you'd choose to stay. We've known each other for four days, but time is a real ball-sucker. I met you when I was running away, when I knew I'd come back to take my crown and face whatever opposition there might’ve been. I was running out of time, and you were a distraction. At first, I hated it—you barging into me with your orbital death machine. You were in my way. But I was wrong, because I—" Margo's stomach sinks as she takes a deep breath, before she admits—"I needed you. I still do."

Margo picks Fen up and sets her on the carpet. She sits and props her legs on the coffee table, then ducks down to retrieve Fen and place her on her lap.

"I know I’m a real cock to tell you all this when you can't talk back. Fine. I'm a cock." Margo lowers her head, so Fen can meet her eyes. "I'm saying this now because I don't want another heart-to-heart about my feelings. I don't know how I feel about McAllister, or my father, or that Natasha bitch, who was forced to kill him. I don't know if I'm sad about the assassination. I don't fucking know if I'm scared to die when I face McAllister, to join my father in the Underworld or wherever it is we go after we kick the bucket. But I'm scared for other people. For my friends. For you. I can't lose. The last time I fucked up in a fight, I almost lost Eliot.”

Fen nudges Margo’s arm to tell her she’s listening.

“Everyone knows the story. The press was all up in my face about it for weeks. My Centurion and I raided a Deserters’ base down at Southpass, but the Couple was there, so it was a big deal. I got the intel from some scouts in the area. The base was an apartment building haunted by a family of ghosts, so no one lived there. My father allowed me to go and ordered me to show no mercy and kill those pigfuckers on the spot, something about making an example of people who defy his authority. And he ordered McAllister to send troops to back us up.

"Irene agreed so she wouldn't look suspicious. I don't know how much Eliot told you about Irene, but, short version, she'd always been after the crown, and I was the only heir. So I suspected she might sabotage my team and me in some way. I asked Kady to get some Wolfs in the area to help if shit went out of hand. We got to the base, called Irene to order the troops to cover us, and she stirred up some ruckus nearby to pretend they were on their way.

Margo tilts her head up to the ceiling, no longer looking at Fen. “We were ambushed. Paloma was an illusion, but George was there in person, ready to fuck us up. A lot of the higher-up Deserters were there, too; no one you know, but bottom line, they were insane, and we were in deep shit. The Wolfs helped us clean out the base. We were outnumbered, but we took them. George used the time to sneak away onto the roof—I didn’t know why. Maybe he decided they were losing and wanted to give us the slip. Eliot and I saw him run and chased after him.

“There was blood everywhere. We almost slipped on the stairs trying to catch George. We made it up in time, but his magic was bat-shit crazier than he was. He made portals. Fucking portals. That was his discipline. I couldn’t pin him down before—”

Margo stops, her body trembling with the sobs she tries to hold.

For the first time, Fen sees Margo cry. Fen scoots off Margo's lap to give her space, settles beside her on the loveseat, and nuzzles her hand to indicate where she is. A shiver runs beneath Fen's skin, making her fur stand up. The magic must be wearing off—in time, Fen hopes, for her to tell Margo she needs her too.

"George stabbed Eliot with a blade through a portal he opened right in front of his stomach. I thought he’d killed him right there. The next time George opened a portal, I aimed my magic into the center of it, and I got him. Froze him in my ice shards where he couldn't portal himself away. One of the spikes punctured his body. His chest cavity, not the heart. I took Eliot and left George there to bleed out. I don't know how long it took, but he did die."

Fen's vision fades to black at the worst time possible. She panics but doesn't hear herself scream. Her chest squeezes like the wind is knocked out of her, but as quickly as the sensation comes, it fades, leaving Fen in human form once more, wearing the cloak and kevlar and knife-belt she had on before Everett changed her form. Why does shapeshifting leave her feeling drowsy?

Margo has stopped talking to watch Fen transform back next to her.

Fighting sleep, Fen forces her eyes open and hums to test out her voice. Margo hands her a bottle of water, and she chugs it with a hum of gratitude. Then, putting the bottle aside, she lays her head on Margo’s shoulder. Margo lets her settle there without fuss.

"Thank you," Fen mumbles. Her voice sounds weird, like she had forgotten it was hers. "I—I know it wasn't easy to share."

“You’re not mad that I cornered you when you couldn’t tell me to shut up?”

"No." Fen blinks rapidly, commanding her brain to stay alert. "Whatever helps. I like listening to you. I like…" she trails off with a yawn.

Margo puts her arm around Fen’s shoulder. Before Fen closes her eyes, she catches a smirk on Margo’s face. “You make a cute bunny,” Margo says. 

“So I’ve been told.”

“Sleep,” Margo whispers in her ear. Fen feels Margo’s fingers combing through her hair, a most infuriating way to lull her into slumber.

“Margo?”

“Yes?”

“Was Eliot okay?”

“He was.” After a pause, Margo adds, “But I almost lost him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Title: I-Can't-Believe-I-Wrote-Almost-A-Whole-Chapter-With-Fen-Stuck-As-A-Bunny.


	14. Under the Pouring Rain at Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: villain character death(s) and minor injuries.

_“I want to tell you a story,” Mira said, tucking Margo in. “It’s a story about two best friends, but it’s not a happy story.”_

_The storm raged across the kingdom outside the bedroom window, striking the earth with lightning like it was aiming to kill. Margo made a face but didn’t ask Mira to stop. Rafe had told her not all stories end well, but she was five, no longer a baby. Old enough to handle the kind of stories that grown-ups tell each other._

_“Not long ago—ten years before you were born—two teenagers, two best friends, vowed to save the world together. They had no idea what saving the world meant; all they knew was that things needed to change. They were magicians like us. The girl could control lightning; the boy had what people called a silver tongue.”_

_“What’s a silver tongue?” Margo asked._

_Mira lay down beside her daughter and faced her. “It means he’s… very persuasive. He has a way to compel people to listen to him. Like sirens, but instead of luring people to their doom, he only used his powers to save lives, not destroy them.”_

_“I know about sirens.”_

_Nodding, Mira continued, “The boy and the girl left home to find a new life for themselves. Their own kingdom didn’t accept people with their kind of power, and neither knew their families. They were orphans. All they had was each other. They trained, they worked, they believed they were ready for a great battle. And they made their way to the only kingdom in their world where magicians could live openly._

_“Though it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. The magic kingdom was run by a tyrant king, an unmarried man who neglected his subjects in favor of his personal goals. As the king had no heir to the throne, the best friends decided to challenge him. The victor gets to rule; the one who lost had to give up their power. They fought a great battle, and the two best friends won. But, unwilling to live the rest of his life in shame, the king decided to end his own life and take his challengers down with him. The boy stood in front of the girl and blocked her from the fatal blow. He wasn’t so lucky.”_

_Thunder shook the ground, and Margo squirmed. Mira stopped talking and stroked her daughter’s cheek. Margo nodded, not wanting to look scared, silently asking her mom to finish the story, even though it terrified her in ways she did not yet understand._

_“The girl wanted to save her best friend. She didn’t want to rule the kingdom by herself. In all her visions of a better future, she was never alone. The boy was dying slowly but surely; the fatal blow wasn’t a shot through the heart, but some kind of poison that coated the tyrant king’s spear. To try and save him, the girl found a scholar, someone who studied the secrets of magic all his life. The scholar admitted there was a way to save her friend, but he advised against it. He said there would be unforeseeable consequences to challenging death. The poison had already sealed the boy’s fate. It was too late.”_

_“But,” Margo said in a small voice, “there must be something she could do.”_

_“That’s what she thought, too. She pleaded with the scholar and said she’d face the consequences of challenging death. The scholar led her to a special fountain, one that draws its power from the Wellspring, the source of all human magic. With her power amplified, the girl saved her friend. What she didn’t know was that a part of him had already died—the part of him that cared about love. That cared about her.”_

_It was long past Margo’s bedtime. The exhaustion overtook her, but she kept her eyes open and didn’t want the night to end. “What happened to the boy?” Margo asked._

_“He still lives, as does she. They marry, and they rule together, but they are growing apart. And while the girl never regrets her decision to save him, she wonders if she had been selfish in deciding his fate for him. In putting her personal feelings above what is good for the kingdom, and bringing back a shell of his former self, she may have doomed her subjects to another tyrant king. She worries she may have become the villain.”_

_“I don’t see her as a villain,” Margo said. “She never meant to hurt people.”_

_Her mother smiled and blinked away tears in her eyes. In time, Margo would recognize them as tears of regret. “Good intentions aren’t always enough. People make bad choices.”_

_The story ended in a way Margo didn’t yet understand, but she was drifting into sleep, too tired to voice the questions she couldn’t yet articulate. Mira kissed her goodnight and said she loved her. Margo, closing her eyes, mumbled that she loved her back. The last memory Margo had of her mom was falling asleep beside her and waking up to an empty bed._

* * *

Eliot carries a sleeping Fen back to the Crater, lifting her with a steady supply of telekinesis on the way. Margo walks quietly beside them while Marina and Kady lead the way to the mirror portal through the tunnel. Not wanting to break El’s concentration, Margo ponders a rough plan for her duel with Irene in her mind. 

The intel from Natasha adds another uncertainty to the duel with Irene. Besides the many allies—voluntary or otherwise—that Irene has at her command, who may double down on Margo if she shows any sign of overpowering Irene, Queen Agate can shift the odds of the duel in or out of Margo’s favor. To convince the Queen to be on Margo’s side requires bluffing, but she is no stranger to deception. And in the chaos of the duel, the Deserters and Reclamationists will strike. These groups of outlaws are cruel but far from stupid, so Margo doesn’t need intel to know they will take advantage of her vulnerability once she is out in the open. 

A moment of silence for the District of Ogygia, Calypso’s pet project from the Age of the Gods, which will be uprooted by violence from multiple sides, including Margo’s. Thank Hades that the district has evacuated following the King’s assassination. 

“Telekinetics first,” Marina says, stepping aside to let Eliot through the mirror.

With Fen still hovering, Eliot lifts her through the center of the portal before stepping in after. Marina ushers Margo in next before she and Kady step through. They emerge through the wall of the kitchen behind Mess Hall, and Kady touches a combination of buttons on the ice maker to shut down the portal. Through secret passages that Margo is starting to remember, Kady brings them into the Cozener Wing. 

“We should go over the plan.” Eliot stops by the bedroom doors. “Which room?”

Margo unlocks her door and gives him a scathing look that shuts down any smartass comments headed her way. 

After Fen is tucked-in under Margo’s stash of blankets, Margo goes to the communal kitchen to discuss tomorrow’s plan. Alice is there, too, sitting at the round dining table in the back with a mug of hot chocolate that is more whipped cream than a beverage. On the other end of the spectrum is Kady with her concerning obsession for black coffee, never mind that it’s almost midnight. Eliot has his feet propped up while he leans back, offering a fuck-you to gravity while his chair tilts backward and stands on two legs. Away from the chaos of these three is Marina, who is at the kitchen island with buttered slices of bread that she toasts by blasting fire from her hands.

“So. Game plan?” Eliot asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.

Marina piles her toast on a plate and joins the group, and allows Kady to swipe a slice off her plate, though she casts her a glare for good measure. They wait for Margo to start the discussion, each offering their version of a reassuring look—looks that Margo has learned in the years she’d spent getting to know them all, never at the same time, in the same place. 

“Marina said the guys took the Muntjac up north again?” Margo brings up a piece of information offered to her earlier, which she has filtered out in favor of stressing about Fen’s abduction.

“Calypso called,” Eliot says. “She said there was a breakthrough. Something you told Mira gave her an idea. Short version. Mira and Hannah are on their way over. They’ll fly above the dome wards on the Muntjac. Calypso and Mayakovsky are staying at the Wellspring to wait for their signal.”

“Signal for what?” Kady asks.

Eliot takes a long sip of his hot chocolate for dramatic effect. “Tomorrow, dear Asmodeus, the Junctions will be no more, except those sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Everett will need a new career. Or he’ll take up scuba diving.”

“She found a replacement for the Junctions?” Margo asks.

“Yep.”

“How?”

“She said the less I know, the better.” Eliot pulls his legs from the tabletop and sets his chair back on four legs before leaning forward. “In case McAllister croaks, the wards drop, Gavin brings in that mind-slut… but Her Majesties are in on it. The problem is timing it right. No ambiance, no magic, no ice daggers.”

“So I’ll finish her off by hand-to-hand combat?” Margo asks. “I should’ve brought my axes.”

“Where are they?” Marina asks.

“You know the topiary in the garden that looks like a dick?”

“No one forgets a phallic shrub.”

“It’s hollowed out in the center. Reach in and find a button. It’ll open up a trapdoor on the lawn. That’s where I hid them.”

“We can get them for you,” Alice says. “We’re going to Blackspire.”

Margo’s friends have already made up their minds. She nods; her protests will only make them more determined to come along, no matter how much she wishes they’d stay put and let her handle this. The duel with Irene is her responsibility. She’ll have to act quick, so her friends don’t become collateral damage—Eliot had come too close the last time he fought alongside her, and it is not a mistake Margo hopes to repeat.

“Just… be careful,” Margo says.

“We’ll be invisible,” Kady assures them all. “Plenty of amulets to spare. You think Irene’s backups will hide themselves too?”

“Most likely,” Eliot says. 

“So, what, we draw them out?” Marina asks. “Fire blasts? Explosives?”

“Irene said she’d be in the throne room,” Alice says. “So her backups should be inside the castle, or out on the castle grounds. We should draw them out. Get them on the streets where they’re out in the open.”

Kady finds a sheet of paper and a pen and draws a rough map of the area around Castle Blackspire, which sits in the center on a square piece of land representing the castle grounds. “Vic’s coming with us tomorrow. I’ll tunnel us into the area so we won’t get caught by the cameras or whatever tech might be scouring from above. Vic will be the drifter. She’ll Travel us to our spots, one of us in each direction.” 

Kady writes everyone’s initials at the table except Margo, positioning each person on a different street that extends from the castle grounds.

“We’ll be invisible, and we’ll blow shit up,” Eliot adds. “Diversion accomplished.”

“The ex-fifty-eighth division officers will be on patrol in the district tomorrow,” Kady reminds everyone. “They’ll jump in to help us.”

“Vic can stay near the castle in case shit goes out of hand with the duel,” Marina points to the center of the sketch. “Not ‘cause I don’t think you’ll kick her ass,” she adds, nudging Margo with a teasing look in her eye, “but you need someone to get your axes for you, plus a certain bad bitch might sneak into the duel and make it a three-way.”

“Paloma?” Margo asks.

“And Everett, no way he’ll miss this,” Kady adds. “Shit, I can’t believe I let him crawl out of that caravan as a snake.”

“It’s not your fault,” Margo says. “We got Fen. Everett lost his leverage. He would’ve blackmailed me with Fen otherwise.”

“The three-way! That’s the best time to cut the Junctions,” Alice says. “When they all come out of hiding to try and take Margo down.”

“Element of surprise. I like it,” Eliot says. “They have a little panic moment, and in goes Margo with her axes. Chop-chop. Dead McAllister.”

“How am I supposed to tell them when to cut the Junctions?” Margo asks.

“Earpieces?” Kady suggests. “You can wear two. I’ll connect you to Calypso’s lab before we leave. If they both fall off, or the signal dies, there’s always Vic with a little mind-slut power—Travelers aren’t affected by ambient magic like normal mind-sluts. She’ll pass on your message, and worst-case scenario, she can blip us out.”

This plan relies on luck as much as reinforcements. Margo doesn’t like her chances, but she has more faith in not dying from the duel than she did when she first fled the palace on the night of coronation. That’s as good as it can get, she supposes.

“Wait,” Margo says, “what about Fen?”

“We’ll confirm with her when she wakes up tomorrow,” Eliot says, “but we believe you need a bodyguard. She can ride with you to the castle on Gallop. Kady fixed him up for you.”

“But—”

“She’ll be invisible,” Kady interrupts, “and she’s a hunter, right? She’ll be stealthy enough to stay low and watch your back.”

“I know you’re worried,” Alice says. “But all of us are ready to do what it takes to end this.”

“It feels wrong. I sent you away so you wouldn’t have to fight for me anymore.”

“Don’t try to order us to stand down, Queenie. We’re helping, even if you throw us in a cell and call it treason,” Marina says. 

“We’re not fighting for you because of what you are,” Eliot pats her shoulder. “We’re helping you because you’re our friend.”

* * *

After the plan is finalized, Margo sneaks back into her room to undress before climbing underneath the covers by Fen’s side. Fen stirs and mumbles something about croissants before she turns to lie on her back. A strand of her hair lingers in front of her nose, obstructing Margo’s view of her face. Margo lays by her side and resists pushing that pesky strand of hair away, and evens her breaths by watching the rise and fall of Fen’s chest beneath the blanket.

This is how Margo falls asleep eventually, huddled close by Fen’s side with a smile. She wakes up to an empty bed, and a note on the nightstand that tells her Fen is at the kitchen, feeling more hopeful despite the many uncertainties of the game plan she and her friends had worked out last night. Maybe Fen’s positive energy is contagious. Never mind that Margo is impervious to influences from other optimists. 

But since she’s feeling an uncharacteristic abundance of faith, she may as well ride this feeling out before her doubts creep back in.

After a quick breakfast, during which Fen confirms her role in the game plan as Margo’s bodyguard, Margo finds Kady in the recording room with guidance from Alice. The recording room walls are green, so the Wolfs don’t need to put up green screens when they make videos. Admittedly, the Wolfs are not one for publicity, so the room is neglected, the air thick with the smell of dust. 

Sitting at the stool, Margo straightens her back and tilts up her chin, embracing the regal stance she has learned through years of forced public appearances. Kady sits behind the camera and adjusts the settings before she confirms, “Ready to go live when you are.”

“How much time will I have?”

“Two minutes.”

“Works for me,” Margo says.

When Kady gives Margo a thumbs-up and turns on the camera, Margo doesn’t consult any script. There is not much to say, but she will lay out her conditions so any backstabbing on Irene’s part will not shift the blame back to Margo herself. The broadcast will override the news channels in the kingdom, ensuring that all citizens bear witness to the official acceptance of the challenge for the throne.

“Irene McAllister. This is Princess Margo speaking,” Margo projects her words through the recording room in a calm voice, leaving time for people to process each detail. “I accept your challenge in honor of your uncle Lance Morrison’s sacrifice to save our kingdom. But I accept on one condition: we will duel alone, just the two of us, without assistance from our allies. I will meet you in the throne room at Castle Blackspire, tonight at sundown.”

Margo blinks twice, a signal for Kady to shut off the camera. Kady nods and shuts the lid over the lens. Margo walks out of the room and takes a deep breath, leaning against the hallway’s wall. This is it. If Irene contests her condition, she will look like a coward. And if Irene plans to betray the promise, which is almost a given, Margo’s friends will be there to retaliate.

Kady walks out of the recording room and hands her a chiming tablet that shows Irene’s video response. 

“I accept. See you tonight.”

* * *

After a short break, Margo deals with the other pain in her ass, this time dialing a private conference call after Kady confirms the IP address won’t be traced back to the Crater. Queen Agate’s advisor answers and quickly put Margo on hold when he sees her face on video. When Queen Agate graces Margo with her virtual presence, Margo is ready with her best fuck-you smile. Feigning politeness—the most refined form of passive-aggression.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for your duel?” Agate asks, wasting no time for greetings.

“I am,” Margo says. “I’ve been informed about a Word as Bond between you and a certain assassin. A suspect for regicide. Know anything about that?”

Agate takes a moment to inhale before she says, returning Margo’s diplomatic insult of a smile, “You’ve caught the suspects? The Deserters? That’s wonderful news.”

“I’ve caught the suspects. But they’re not Deserters. One of them came clean and turned herself in. The other is on a floating piece of rock that won’t float for much longer.”

“I don’t take kindly to threats, Princess.”

“I don’t take kindly to contract killing.” Margo leans closer to the camera. “I’ll cut the bullshit, Your Majesty. You’ve been duped. McAllister drafted the Bond for you and told you about her plan to duel me for the fucking crown. You wanted to cover your ass no matter who wins.”

“You dare accuse me without evidence?”

Agate stays poised on her end of the call, no squirming or sweating in her palms. Of course, Agate had planned for Margo to find out eventually, but the fact that she put her trust in someone else’s magic? Rookie error. Only the desperate would go this far.

“I’m not going to sue. There aren’t any Gods left in this world to pass judgement,” Margo says. “I’m telling you what I heard so you can take back those Floater blimps flying over our wards and forget about trying to invade—don’t deny it, trust me, it helps no one. Irene double-crossed you.”

“Preposterous.” Agate scoffs.

“I know, I know. The King is dead, the assassin held up her bargain, what other proof do you need, right? You wanted the King of Stormhold to pay for what he did to your husband. But the Bond never mentions his name.”

“What would you know about Word as Bonds? They’re—”

“If your little pervert of a son tries to make me his bride, he dies too. That’s what the Bond says. That’s what our little wall-walker friend told me. She’s contractually obligated to kill the King of Stormhold, and she’s immortal ‘till she finishes the deed. Should’ve studied your runes before you made someone do your paperwork.”

“You’ve caught the assassin. The Bond is finished.”

“I said she turned herself in.” This time, Margo’s smirk is genuine. “But I let her go.”

Agate’s mask is slipping, if the flare of her nostrils is any indication. “What are you requesting?” 

“The way I see it, if Irene wins, and I die, then the wards won’t drop. Your air force can hover the skies all you want, but you can kiss your invasion plan goodbye. If Irene dies, and I win, the wards drop. You can swoop in, conquer us, make yourself the Queen of both turfs. But you don’t have a daughter, and you’re as mortal as I am. Guess who will be King of this place? Your only son with a target on his back.”

“I am not making promises over a conference call.”

“That’s alright,” Margo answers sweetly. “You have until sundown. I’ll know your decision when the wards drop.”

“ _If_ the wards drop,” Agate says.

“ _When._ ”

* * *

Sunset colors the sky in crimson like the sky is preparing itself for bloodshed. Margo rides her motorcycle into the District of Ogygia, which greets her with empty husks, newly-evacuated buildings once filled with murmurs of nightlife. Behind her, an invisible Fen, hidden by an illusion amulet, clings onto her waist and presses her cheek against her back.

Besides the scatter of two dozen armed officers on patrol in the area, marching slowly along the streets, Margo sees no one on her way. The rev of the motorcycle’s engine announces Margo’s arrival, the sound unrivaled save for faint whirring from the surveillance bots circling overhead. Castle Blackspire is in view, the largest silhouette with light coming from the windows. Though no spectators gather on the streets, cameras will watch Margo battle for her crown and relay the scene to the citizens on telescreens. 

Kady’s voice whispers in both of Margo’s earpieces, the audio almost lifelike and three-dimensional. _“Four reinforcements in position. Invisibility activated. Ready for your signal.”_

_And Vic?_ Margo thinks back. There is no space for a headband inside her helmet. She’s wearing a neurolink contact lens so everyone over the network can hear her, an experimental piece of technology by the Wolfs, who only have the one prototype.

_“At the back garden, searching for axes,”_ Kady reports after a moment. _“ Anti-Traveling wards around castle walls. Need to reconvene for a new plan of entry.”_

Of course there are. The south gate surrounding the castle is open and ready for Margo three blocks away. She accelerates and feels Fen cling on tighter, finding comfort in being hugged even if she only feels it faintly through her armor. Fen, as the designated bodyguard, is connected to the network through a spare earpiece so she can be in the loop, though she doesn’t have a neurolink contact lens to communicate through it.

_I’ll be at the south gate in three,_ Margo decides. _We can meet there._

_“Message relayed.”_

_Thanks, sis._

_“Anything for family,”_ Kady responds, the smile apparent in her voice. _“ Any last words of advice?”_

Kady. Alice. Eliot. And Marina. They’re all risking their lives in the open after years of aliases and undisclosed identities. Not to mention they’re on their own, each positioned in the middle of a separate street, and their sole mission is to draw attention to themselves to divert Irene’s allies. Margo extracts the warmth from the air around her to fuel the cacodemon in her back. The sooner she puts McAllister in her place, the quicker they can get out. 

_Be careful, all of you,_ Margo thinks. _And tell everyone I’m honored to be their friend._

Once Margo reaches the block where the castle stands, she parks her motorcycle beside a lamppost and takes her sweet time so Fen can dismount behind her. Victoria runs to the gate from the castle ground to join them. Margo waits for Vic by lingering at the castle gate, eyeing the wide path that will lead her to the portcullis. 

_Bad news,_ Vic projects her thoughts into Margo and Fen’s minds. _Your axes are gone._

_Fuck. McAllister must’ve gotten them._

After Vic relays Margo’s thoughts to Fen, she asks, _Now what?_

Margo starts walking to avoid suspicion. Fen follows close behind—Margo can tell by the faint sound of her footsteps, too subtle for the cameras when the clinking of Margo’s full metal armor will drown it out. Vic is nearby, awaiting further instruction. 

“What about Sir Frost?” Fen whispers, because of course she has listened and remembered Margo’s story from the night of their first kiss.

“Good plan,” Margo whispers back, only parting her lips slightly. 

To compensate for the quiet chatter, Margo stomps firmer against the ground as she marches closer. The rhythm of her footsteps fall into a steady beat that helps her concentrate on what’s around her. She is halfway down the path by now, but she focuses on a nearby window around the right corner on the east side.

As a princess, Margo has trained in runes while she also learned to control the intuitive side of her magic, the cryomancy discipline that gives her the affinity for ice. The runes are required for a future heir of the throne—the wards that protect the kingdom are an interweb of runic formulas. Plus, learning to cast with the Language of the Gods broadens the scope of what her magic can do outside her discipline. The intuitive side is useful in battle, ignited by the sheer force of her will, independent of any symbols in the air that she can trace and release. 

It is also the intuitive side that allows her to create Sir Frost, a solid humanoid figure of ice that lasts a few minutes but causes enough stir to keep the guards on their toes for the next hour. The trick is to send Sir Frost far enough to break that window on the east side, to draw out any potential allies on Irene’s side.

_“How can I pull heat from a place I can’t feel?” Margo had once asked Mayakovsky when she was seven years old. She had held her own against him in a duel past the two-minute mark, and he had taught her to project her power outside of her immediate surrounding._

_“Any place within your perception, you can unleash power,” Mayakovsky had said. “You have more than one sense, no? Meditate. Be mindful of where you want ice to form. Visualize obstacles standing in your way—trees, walls, locked gates. Listen for footsteps, or wind, or rain, anything that can interrupt what you wish to do.”_

Eventually Margo has managed to do it—to make ice from the other end of the room, then the garden, then the street—but meditation is always a bore, and any extension of her power a last resort. Right now is one of those desperate times. If Kady and the others are hiding under illusions, there’s a chance Irene’s allies are doing the same. 

Margo takes a deep breath and acknowledges her fear that this might be her last fight. She focuses on the moment and takes in the area near the window where she wants to reach with her power. The ground is dry and smoothly-paved, and the wind gentle and still. Ice begins to form in the cracks between the stones that pave a walkway around the castle’s outer walls.

A humanoid form made of ice appears by the window and smashes the glass with its fists. Three punches later, the glass shatters. Two men tackle Sir Frost by blasting the window and jumping out. Margo recognizes them as part of Irene’s Centurion—two out of twelve if the Centurion is all the reinforcement she has. The other ten must be in the area, too. 

Armed with proof that Irene is still playing dirty, Margo walks to the portcullis at the castle’s front, which lifts up to let her into the courtyard.

_Kady,_ Margo commands, _start fucking shit up._

_“Copy,”_ Kady says. 

Four separate waves of magical destruction break the silence in the streets surrounding the castle grounds. By the time Margo is in the courtyard and on her way to the throne room, four more of Irene’s Centurion have exited the castle from other passages to deal with the four invisible threats. Kady confirms it before she drops the connection to focus on fighting, which leaves six Centurion Guards left by Irene’s side.

Three empty hallways later, Margo reaches the throne room with Fen and Vic close behind her. Unlike the open gates and the portcullis that welcome her like an honored guest, the double doors to the throne room are closed. If Irene expects Margo to knock, though, she is sorry to disappoint. Margo stays out there to collect herself and waits for the network to connect to the Muntjac’s signal. Soon, she, along with Fen and Vic, hear the confirmation in the form of Hannah’s voice. _“ We are in position.”_

_“Good luck,”_ Mira adds.

_See you soon, mom,_ Margo replies before she opens the door.

* * *

All the lights are on inside the throne room. Irene sits at the throne alone. Margo’s axes, Sorrow and Sorrow, lie at her feet with their handles crossed. 

Margo stops before the altar and waits. She feels Fen’s signal, a light tap on her shoulder, before she hears Vic’s confirmation mentally that she’s inside, too.

“What were you hoping to accomplish with that stunt at the window?” Irene rises from the throne with a bored look on her face and steps past the axes still on the ground. 

“I knocked to see if anyone’s home,” Margo says. She stands her ground halfway down the room. “I wasn’t expecting your Centurion to open up based on our agreement.”

Fen is standing behind her, back-to-back, a knife in each hand, and ready to kick serious ass. Vic, unable to Travel thanks to the wards within the walls, is navigating the room on tip-toes, searching for signals from the minds of anyone who may be illusioned invisible nearby. 

“I found your stash so we could level the playing field,” Irene says. “You requested a one-on-one duel. I don’t see why you need axes unless you don’t believe your magic is up to scratch.”

Margo purses her lips and pretends to ponder her answer, buying herself time to check in with her friends. _Find anyone else?_ Margo projects her thoughts. 

_Yes._ Vic responds. _I sense three. But there could be more._

Warding one’s mind is serious magic, but it is a sub-skill that most magicians prioritize in their training. Which is great for Margo, but also fantastic for whoever is hiding from Vic at this moment. She knows for a fact that Irene is not alone. But neither is she. _I’ll take my chances,_ Margo responds. 

She gives Vic ten seconds to relay the message to Fen before she says, “You see my axes as a real threat. Sounds like a compliment to me. But alright.”

Margo kneels to the ground and binds her ankles with ice when she sees the twitch under Irene’s eye. Every magician has a tell, and Margo has spent enough time with Irene to discern hers. Irene’s telekinesis brushes past the top of Margo’s head, aimed for the place where her chest was a moment ago. Shackled and secured against the force trying to push her back, Margo plants her hand on the ground, palm-down. 

A layer of ice spreads over the tiles beneath. Irene steps forward and catches her foot on the slippery surface. That’s the catch with telekinetics—their magic is only as strong as their stance. Balance is their greatest strength as well as weakness. As Eliot’s best friend, Margo has spent years dueling him and fighting by his side, familiarizing herself with his discipline almost as much as her own. 

Once Irene falls, Margo slides past her on the icy ground, gliding over to the dais. She grabs the handles of her axes to lift them, but someone else is tugging the other end, refusing to let go. Someone invisible. 

Irene has pulled herself up behind Margo and is now trying to lift her away by her armor. Margo holds onto the axes, gritting her teeth as the hard shells of the armor crush into her with the force of Irene’s pull. She needs the axes if Calypso will shut down the Junction and turn magic off when things get worse, but the delay has cost her the advantage of striking Irene off-balance. If she lets go, Irene will fling her across the room and slam her against a wall, which will likely break her neck. So she holds on.

A knife swishes past Margo’s side and embeds itself into an invisible form. Someone groans and their grip on Margo’s axes loosen as they reveal their form. It’s Marcus, an illusionist, one of the oldest members of Irene’s Centurion. He has been the one hiding Irene’s allies from Margo’s view, and Fen must have noticed Margo struggling with her axes and thrown a knife to try and take him out. It has worked; he clatters to the ground with a wound on his stomach where Fen’s knife has jabbed into him and stares up with lifeless eyes.

Fen draws a sharp breath somewhere near, giving away her location, but Irene doesn’t turn her attention away. Irene grabs Margo with her telekinesis and flings her backward across the room. Margo can’t move her hands unless she wants to let go of her axes. Soaring through the room beneath the high ceiling, Margo closes her eyes to feel the air around the room and wills herself to extract heat in small bits, turning the vapor into projectiles of ice. She directs the shards to fly in the direction of Irene’s head.

Irene lifts her shield to protect her face, losing part of her hold on Margo. She is snarling now that her leverage is revealed, and though Margo doesn’t waste time voicing the fact out loud, it’s clear that Irene has violated her agreement with Margo to duel one-on-one. The illusionist’s body is proof. Fen and Vic’s presence cannot count against Margo when they are nothing but a necessary precaution. Fen has only attacked in defense after the illusionist made the first move in intervening the duel.

Irene has not fought with honor, and whether she wins or loses, that shame will follow her. 

Margo has suspended at an arm’s length away from the back wall, no longer at the risk of being smashed against the solid surface. Maybe Irene is coming to the same realization about shame, or maybe not, but whatever the case, Margo takes the chance to free her arms—in time to deflect a burst of fire from another Centurion Guard now out of hiding, Mike or whatever-his-face. 

There are six people on Irene’s side down in the throne room. They are all unveiled now that Marcus the illusionist is dead. Margo’s side is outnumbered with only three people, but at least Fen and Vic remain out of sight.

_Free yourself,_ Vic thinks. _Diversion coming._

Margo obeys, not knowing what Vic means, and encases her feet in ice blocks to weigh herself down. Fen shouts across the room the moment Irene sees what Margo is doing. 

“Hey, bitch!” 

Fen reveals herself by yanking off her illusion charm and draws Irene’s attention away before she can crush Margo’s ice. Fen is kneeling on top of a Centurion Guard she has defeated, who is lying on the ground, unmoving, with a knife in his neck. Margo descends with the weight of ice on her feet, which she dispels once she’s close to the ground, and lands on her feet. 

No one comes to Irene’s aid or runs toward Margo. By the looks of it, three of Irene’s reinforcements are dead—Vic must’ve taken one out, too. The other three have fled or are hiding somewhere, waiting to ambush Margo and company. Their sudden absence is unsettling, but there’s no time to dwell.

Irene dodges the bloody knife that Fen throws at her, pulled from her most recent victim. Margo gathers ice on the ground under Irene’s feet again, but Irene skips over the frozen tiles this time and raises her arm at Fen, suspending her in midair. 

“Fen!” Margo yells. 

Margo lifts her arm and throws one of her axes at Irene’s back. It almost hits her, but she stops it in its trajectory in time, and the blade of the axe only makes a dent in the back of her armor. Fuck telekinesis. Fuck.

“Give up!” Irene says. “Or I’ll tire you out.”

“Says the one with twelve secret bodyguards,” Margo hisses back, winded from the fight already. She’s barely catching her breath, but she won’t give Irene the satisfaction.

“You’re weak.” Irene tuts her tongue, ignoring her rebuttal. “Just like that Floater prince who can’t keep his mouth shut about his mother’s nefarious plans.”

Margo sends three sharp jets of ice Irene’s way, aiming for her face and her neck. She deflects them, and Margo freezes herself to a pillar on the side of the room before Irene can yank her upward. “You killed Micah?” Margo asks. 

Irene smirks and doesn’t deny it. Of fucking course. Margo has suspected it for years—Irene and her Centurion Guards have escorted Margo and her father to the banquet in the Floating-Mountain, which gave her the perfect opportunity to land a hit without delegating the job to foreign assassins. Micah has done nothing to deserve an arrow in his back. All he had wanted was to do the right thing.

“Does Queen Agate know?”

“Queen Agate is a trusted ally,” Irene says. She tries to pry the ice off the pillar and pluck Margo away, and the surface of the ice cracks at the tension of the pull.

The windows across the room shatter, broken by three bodies that Margo recognizes as the Centurion Guards who have gone missing in the chaos of the fight moments earlier, grabbed by unforeseen enemies. They have no visible wounds, but their faces are pale, and the whites of their eyes completely black along with their irises. Did the Deserters do this? Have they come close to the castle? 

Fen, free from Irene’s hold, runs toward Vic, who has also taken off her illusion pendant now that there is no point of hiding.

Irene lets go of her telekinetic tug-o-war with Margo and traces a dial of twelve runes in the air. She releases the enchantment once it starts glowing, and the runic formulas light up the sky for a second before they vanish. The wards around Stormhold drop, but the sky remains free of Floater blimps and hovercrafts. Agate has decided to call off her forces after considering Margo’s offer. Irene curses under her breath.

“Hear that?” Margo taunts. “That’s the sound of your leverage breaking.”

* * *

The sky may be free of Floater invaders, but it is far from clear. It's overshadowed by gray clouds that span across the diameter of the entire District of Ogygia. Dark, faceless shadows creep in from the broken glass and surround the room, warping their slender human forms to block all exits. 

Paloma Ball has never made a public appearance, but all of Stormhold knows of her magic. Her discipline is umbrakinesis: manipulation of shadows, the literal stuff of nightmares. Rumors say that she can see through the shadows that she controls; that they are extensions of her eyes, and this ability makes her an undetectable spy. 

Margo doesn’t buy into the rumor, but she dodges faceless humanoid silhouettes that are undeniably creepy. One touches her neck, a small exposed section not covered by armor, and goosebumps crawl up her skin. Somehow the shadow is solid, yet sinks into her skin upon contact with tendrils of itself—goosebumps crawl up her arms. But her axes cut straight through the shadows, hacking through wisps of nothing. At least Irene is too busy fending them off to attack her, but Margo is likewise preoccupied. Shadows don’t pick sides, and neither does the person orchestrating them like a puppet master.

A handful of shadows catch Fen and pull her out of a broken window. Vic grabs onto Fen’s hand and holds on tight as they are both lifted away. _We’ll be fine,_ Vic projects the thought before Margo can call out for them. 

Once away from the castle’s walls, Vic Travels away, taking Fen along.

The armor around Margo’s body tightens. Margo freezes skin over her chest and her back, trying to push back against the pressure. Irene is crushing Margo from the outside, having freed herself from her shadow assailants. Sensing resistance, Irene lifts herself off her feet and soars straight into Margo’s path, tackling her before she can dodge out of the way.

They fly out of the window, levitating high above the chaos on the streets below. Many roads are upturned, the earth underneath the asphalt exposed—Kady’s doing. There are blinding flashes of light on one block, which has to be Alice, and fire rising on another, which has to be Marina. One shadow grabs on to Margo’s wrist, and she turns her hand, trying to sink the blade of her axe through it, but it yanks the axe out of her grip and disappears below.

Irene takes them on a path west, where the Atlas Spire stands in sight, its rocky structure towering above the rest of the district. Margo tries to swing her other axe to hack into Irene’s back, but she can’t bend her arm. It’s like the armor is holding its form to keep her from bending at the joints. Across the roof of a building below, there is another person with their hand outstretched in Margo’s direction. Margo’s armor disassembles piece by piece, leaving her exposed as the metal falls and clatter onto the streets below.

“Have you met Gunther?” Irene says, snarling with the strain of holding them both on the flight path. “He’s a new recruit. A ferrokinetic, like the bitch who fixed your armor.”

As she speaks, Margo loses her grip on her remaining axe. Gunther directs it downward and catches it in his hand. Margo is too far to see the expression on his face, but he must be one smug son of a bitch. There goes her last defense.

_“Margo? Margo! We’re overhead. Tell us when to cut the Junction.”_ Mira’s voice rings through Margo’s ear. By some fucking miracle, one of the earpieces is still hooked to Margo’s ear after all the fighting.

Irene lands them not on the Atlas Spire, but on a nearby rooftop of a building six stories tall. Margo decides to wait a few moments longer so she can take in her surroundings. A hand-to-hand would be much harder without her axes. 

“I can’t believe you waited twenty-one years to take me out,” Margo says, suppressing a shudder. The adrenaline from her duel at the throne room is wearing off, and the air is cold as shit up here. 

But the cold doesn’t bother Margo, and Irene looks equally exhausted. Margo pushes Irene away, and, with the distance between them, freezes Irene’s feet to the ground below. Her ice shackles are flimsier and won’t hold for long, giving way to her exhaustion. 

A burst of pain shoots from the base of Margo’s neck up to her skull. She winces at the brutal psychic intrusion and turns to find the source. Gavin has Traveled onto the adjacent building’s rooftop, and Anna is beside him, recognizable from the pictures Margo has seen as a teenager. Anna is trying to breach Margo’s mental ward, numbing her skull with each push. 

Fuck. She shouldn’t have waited.

“This crown is mine,” Irene says. She frees herself quickly from Margo’s ice bindings and takes a step forward. “It has been since the beginning.”

Margo doesn’t step back—she’s close to the edge of the rooftop, and she doesn’t have telekinesis to catch herself if she takes a tumble down the side. Her vision is blurring with the intensity of Anna’s attempted intrusion. Glancing up at the sky, where gray clouds gather at the ready, Margo finds the right words to tell her mother through the neurolink. 

_Give us rain,_ Margo thinks, concentrating on her thought. It doesn’t matter if Anna hears it—there’s no time for her to intervene. _Now._

_“Copy,”_ Mira says. _“Be careful, honey.”_

Irene laughs, and Margo winks. The pain in her head stops.

It takes a few seconds for the Junction to close entirely, but Margo feels the moment the ambient energy flickers out. The air is thinner like all the excess magic has been snuffed out of it. Irene pushes her hand forward, trying to force Margo off the side of the roof, but nothing happens. If Margo isn’t fighting to save her own fucking life, she would have savored the panicked look on Irene’s face.

“Margo!”

Eliot is calling her name in the same direction that Gavin and Anna have come from. He lands on the adjacent building’s roof as the ambient energy runs out—he must have freed himself from the fighting on the streets and flown here to help. Before Gavin can Travel with Anna to where Margo is standing, Eliot tackles him to the ground and throws punches to knock him out.

* * *

Paloma is riding on a hoverboard as she looms closer to Eliot, a dagger in hand. Eliot doesn't notice the flying figure from down the street, too preoccupied by the wrestling to notice. She is seeking vengeance for her husband George’s death. Even without magic, Paloma has come prepared to kill. "Eliot!" Margo shouts. "Look out!"

Eliot doesn't hear her. Margo is out of reach, and he is defenseless. The rain is only a drizzle, the energy too weak for Eliot to harness for telekinesis and lift himself away. The cacodemon writhes beneath the skin on Margo’s back, a reminder of her last line of defense.

Margo meets Eliot’s eyes, and though it’s too dark to see his face, she feels the moment he comes to the realization of what she’s about to do like they are connected. Before Eliot can shout for her to stop, she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, and wills the companion who has been trapped inside her for fourteen years, her final weapon, to rise. To protect her best friend like she once promised, and save him before it’s too late.

“Margo says go free.”

Liberated at last, the cacodemon bursts out of the trap tattooed on her skin, and leaps across the rooftop, catching Paloma in the air while she’s still hovering. Before the cacodemon descends into the underworld where he belongs, he passes through Paloma’s chest, burning a hole and killing her before she can say any last words. 

A roar of thunder echoes across the land. Lightning fizzles in the gray clouds before it descends in a flash, striking the Atlas Spire, the district’s tallest structure. The drizzle turns into a downpour, and, standing beneath the rain, Margo doesn’t feel the knife sink into her side until she sees Irene’s smug grin. Blood seeps out from her wound, and the air thickens with new ambient energy brought forth from the water of the Wellspring. She grabs Irene by the neck and, with a pained gasp, wills a shard of ice to form beneath the palm of her hand. 

The ice punctures Irene’s skin with its sharp corner. Margo freezes over the stab wound on her side along with the knife stuck in it, securing the blade in place, so she doesn’t lose more blood. The last thing Margo sees is Irene crumbling before her as the shard of ice dissipates into vapor, leaving the gash on her neck wide open. 

The last thing she hears is a popping sound as a Traveler blips her away.


	15. Aura of a Beating Heart

_ The last time Julia spoke to Fen before shit went south, they were at Fen's house, and Fen asked her not to leave with the FU fighters for the raid. According to Baylor's intel, Cyrus and Phyllis, Everett's oldest cronies, would be lurking in their base in Caldera City, an hour's ride from Wall. _

_ “Look what happened to my dad,” Fen said, a last attempt to talk Julia out of going. “They’re bad people. You can’t trust them.” _

_ “I don’t trust them,” Julia insisted. “I’m not stupid. I know what kind of people they are. But they have what we need.” _

_ “What good would they do? Harriet’s been trying for a year. Josh left Blackspire. None of the Wolfs have heard from him since. Face it. There’s—there’s no finding him.” _

_ “Where are you going with this?” _

_ Fen closed her mouth, trying to filter her words to sound less blunt, but came up empty. Before Julia could walk out the door, she stepped in front of her and blurted out, "I'm saying it's time to let it go!" _

_ “If you think I can just ‘let it go’,” Julia said, pushing her aside, “then you don’t know me at all. You never did.” _

_ Julia was lying—Fen knew her better than most, even the shit she wished she could forget, and somehow she had loved her anyway. She was lying because she was angry, and she was angry because Fen was right. But she was weak—letting go was easier said than done. _

_ “You don’t mean that. Jules, please.” Fen let her walk out the door, but the crestfallen look on Fen’s face stopped her before she could storm down the sidewalk to get to the meeting point at Lemrose Bridge. _

_ If Julia believed in signs from the universe, or the Gods, or whoever gave a fuck, she would have seen Fen’s persistence as a sign that she should stay. But she didn’t. _

_ "If you're not even going to try—" Julia looked her in the eye— "then you didn't care about Josh as much as I did." _

_ Julia regretted the words as soon as she said them. _

_ Fen didn’t cry—Julia had gone too far to deserve that from Fen. She scoffed before Julia could muster an apology, and she walked back inside and shut her door. Julia walked away, hating herself with every step. _

_ Three hours later, Julia would hear this conversation over and over in her head in what she believed would be the last moment of her life, cowering against the shelf with vials upon vials of Wellspring water as Cyrus held a knife to her throat. Phyllis told her no one was coming for her. She would hate herself because the last words she'd said to Fen would be in anger, and there would be no chance for her to take them back. _

* * *

_ In desperation to save herself, to at least try, Julia smashed the glass door of the cabinet to break free, spilling the Wellspring water from the vials and letting it wash over her skin. She hadn't expected the magic to work upon touch, but somehow the power sank into the depths of her. By the element of surprise and sheer, dumb luck, Julia redirected a spell that Phyllis cast, immobilizing her. She took down Cyrus with hunter's reflexes, deflecting his knife away before pinning him down. _

_ For good measure—out of anger or fear, or both—Julia killed them before they had a chance to get up and chase after her. _

_ Julia didn't remember how she made her way back to Wall. Her legs carried her on muscle memory, trying to steer her away from the scene of the crime where no one else made it out. When she stopped at her back door and saw lights on inside the museum, a stolen hoverboard was under her feet, and her own t-shirt was wrapped around her bleeding elbow. _

_ She was overwhelmed by the magic more than the pain, a presence that now loomed over her like a shadow. The energy was impossible to ignore, more intense than the ripple that would course through her body when she wore one of Harriet’s amulets. This power was one that lived and breathed, and it was inside her blood. _

_ The back door opened, and Fen pulled her into a hug before she noticed the blood seeping through her makeshift bandage. Where Fen had been angry hours ago, now she looked like she was too exhausted to cry. Julia said she was sorry over and over. Fen cleaned up the cuts on her elbow and picking out bits of glass, all the while rambling about the many Wolf operatives Harriet had reached out to find her, about the injured FU fighters found at the scene who were arrested for the breaking and entering.  _

_ “We thought you were killed,” Fen said, bandaging Julia’s elbow with careful hands. “They were dangerous, and I let you go alone.” _

_ After midnight, they lay in bed together, and the stolen magic fizzled between their bodies as they shared one last kiss. It was over, whatever romantic feelings they once shared; they couldn’t bring themselves to say the words yet to make it real. The argument had broken Fen, and it had broken Julia in more ways than one. _

_ “I’m sorry,” Julia said again, voice raspy and strained. “I fucked up. I know you care about Josh, but I had to be a bitch. And you were right—it was a stupid plan.” _

_ “You were desperate to get him back. I can’t blame you for that.” _

_ “I stole magic!” Julia turned away from her to face the wall. “Just like Everett and the rest of them, everyone who ruined my life, and so many others. How the fuck am I supposed to live with this?” _

_ “You’ll use it for good.” Fen touched her shoulder but didn’t ask her to turn back. “Fogg can teach you to control it. You’re not the only one like this. Look at Zelda.” _

_ “Zelda saved half the fucking world. She made the Wolfs happen. What did I do?” _

_ “Zelda hadn’t done any of that when she was nineteen. She was in her twenties when she turned her life around. You can do the same.” _

_ “You’re such an optimist,” Julia argued, and it was true. Fen had faith in people that hadn’t done shit to deserve it. _

_ Fen smiled and nudged Julia on the side. “So what if I am?” _

_ “I’ll fuck up again.” _

_ “Oh, are you a seer now?” _

_ Julia turned back to face Fen with a glower, but the ripples of magic through her body settled into a begrudging acceptance. “That’s not how it works. Not my kind of magic.” _

_ “So you can’t see the future. Then you might as well give magic a try,” Fen said. “Learn to control your new power. See if you’re as shitty as you say. Maybe you’ll fuck up again and prove me wrong. But I don’t believe you will. Magic is lucky to have you.” _

* * *

Fen is up in the clouds again, literally rising above the chaos surrounding the District of Ogygia. It seems cowardly to flee the scene right after Margo's victory, but Margo's stab wound will heal faster at the source of the Wellspring. Media attention is the last thing Margo needs, and after the damage from the Reclamationists and Deserters, Castle Blackspire is a shell of shattered glass and broken walls.

Blood thickens the kevlar backing of Fen’s armor, difficult to see under the black fabric but evident upon touch. She removes the hard shells protecting her vital organs and thighs, and pries off the gauntlets. Closing her eyes, she strips off the remaining layer and tosses it in the laundry basket Eliot has given her after they climbed aboard the Muntjac. Then she opens her door and leaves the basket outside, hoping this is the last she will see of her borrowed getup.

Her room is in the corner, and all conversations are dull behind walls, but she hears the screams and the sound of metal clashing against metal like she is still at the center of the District of Ogygia. Voices are whispering nearby even though she's here alone. The voices are familiar, like Eliot and the other boys are talking to her at once. 

Fen turns on the shower in her private bath and lets the water drown out the noises she can’t make sense of, washing away whatever remains on her face from the battle. By the time she considers herself clean and steps out of the bathroom, the sky outside is pitch-black. The noises have faded from her mind—for now—but she is in no mood to sleep.

After drying her hair with a towel, Fen opens her door and sees a new basket replacing the one she has set out. Inside is the jacket she’d worn on the night she and Margo caught lightning out on the deck. This time she notes the name tag on the inside of the collar. It was Margo’s jacket once, and Fen had claimed it for herself for the short time she’d lived in it. Margo hadn’t mentioned it had belonged to her. The other items in the basket must have belonged to Margo back in her Centurion days, too. Fen brings everything inside and changes out of her bathrobe. She gets dressed in Margo’s old tank top and jeans, which feel like a hug from the woman in question, and drapes the jacket over the back of her chair. 

Fen will thank Eliot when she sees him later. There's only one place he'd be right now, and she's not going to friend-block him. She leaves her room and wanders around, hoping to catch a conversation with someone, anyone, whoever Penny or Victoria had Traveled on board.

Her body carries her to the engine room, where the Muntjac's heart brightens at her presence. Where she only sees the pulsing red glows before, she can now feel the ship's heartbeats in light tremors under the wooden floorboards as she climbs down from the mezzanine and approaches the trunk. She must have bonded with the ship in the past few days, and clearly, she's not the only one in need of companionship.

"Feels like a relief, doesn't it?" Fen asks. "You don't have to hide anymore."

The heart glows again in response.

“Same goes for all of us,” a voice says. Fen turns and sees Alice at the door of the engine room with a tray in hand. “Thought you might want some company.”

“Yeah. I’d like that,” Fen says.

Alice shuts the door behind her with a gentle nudge of her foot. She joins Fen at the trunk that holds the Muntjac’s heart and hands Fen the tray before she sits down beside her. “You missed dinner. Everyone did, actually. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re still hungry later—Kady and I already ate.”

Fen hasn't thought about food since lunch, but she gobbles the sandwich in record time and drains the glass of orange juice without stopping to catch her breath. Once she's finished, Alice takes her glass, sets it back on the tray with the plate, and then hands her a napkin.

Blinking twice, Fen wipes her mouth and mumbles, “Thank you.”

Alice takes the tray and readies to leave, but Fen nudges her by the elbow and stops her. After a stunned silence, Alice sets the tray aside and chuckles. Fen hears her think,  _ Old habits die hard. _

“I feel that,” Fen says. It takes her a second to catch on to the fact that Alice hasn’t said anything out loud.

“Did you just…”

“Sorry!”

“Were you always like this?” _ A magician? _

“Not me. I knew magicians—it was a whole thing back in my village, but me? No, I haven’t got any… Wait. Was that—did I do that again?”

“Huh,” Alice says.

Without explanation, Alice turns away and mumbles something to herself, something about beacons. Fen lets Alice have her tangent while she tries to piece together the weirdness of whatever is going on.

Alice turns around and traces a rune in the air and releases it before Fen can decipher what she’s casting. A blue haze surrounds Fen like a shadow. Fen prods at her skin, which feels normal despite the fog of color around her. The haze dispels before her eyes, and she sees Alice peering at her, having moved her face closer to try and gauge Fen’s transformation.

“That was pretty,” Fen offers.

Alice moves back to give her space and says, “That was magic. That was you.”

“But I can’t…”

Fen forgets her next words and looks down at her body again like she’s seeing through the eyes of a stranger. It doesn’t make sense that she has magic, too. Harriet knows how to detect magicians, and so does Fogg, and Fen has spent plenty of time with them both.

Did something happen in the last few days after she left Wall?

“It’s the rain!” Fen says. She hears Alice come to the same conclusion in her mind.

“You were chosen. That’s incredible.”

“I thought that’s impossible unless it’s a life-or-death situation.”

Alice shakes her head. “Calypso got rid of the Junctions in Ogygia. I think the rain made magic seep into the earth itself so it can’t be harvested anymore, not without making a huge effort to drain from trees, or plants. But nature wasn’t the only thing the rain had touched.”

“Are you saying I got doused in Wellspring water, and it… gave me powers?”

“I lit a beacon, and your magic responded. So yes.”

Fen has nothing to say except, “Fuck.”

“And from the looks of it, you’re a psychic.”

“Like Penny?”

Fen laughs as soon as she says it, and she imagines Penny’s oh-shit expression when he finds out he has to be her teacher. Alice is laughing now, too, glowing contentedly with her own aura. Her aura shines like a ripple of silver light and feels like cool water running across her skin.

“You’re doing it again,” Alice says.

“Sorry.” Fen cringes.

Alice waves off the apology. “Most psychics aren’t as polite about their intrusions. Penny would’ve told me to leave the room.”

“Rude.”

“He is. But he’s nicer once you get to know him.”

“I can tell,” Fen says.

Penny isn’t the first person she has met who keeps new friends at arm’s length but means none of the harsh stuff they say. Maybe he and Julia will get along. It takes an equally blunt person to drive a wedge into his hard shell and take root.

"The world is balancing itself," Alice says. "Mira and Hannah are working to bring storms across the whole kingdom, and then the whole world. Paloma's dead. So is Everett."

“Are you sure?”

Alice laughs, taking no offense in her doubt. Fen's last run-in with Everett has shown he's difficult to catch. Turning into a snake is an easy escape. "I'm sure. Lightning struck the Atlas Spire during the storm. Rocks tumbled off of it—the spire was basically a huge stack of rocks, to begin with, so sooner or later it would've given way to an earthquake, or something."

“Kind of weird that a bolt of lightning destroyed it,” Fen says. “Of all things.”

"Right? Anyway, Kady and I were down on the streets when it happened. We were fighting a bunch of… Deserters? It was hard to tell. We were stalling, since we knew the Junction was about to get cut. And Everett was in the area, too, trying to fly his way over to Margo and Irene. Then, magic went out, and he changed back to his human form and fell off in mid-air. He was flying low enough that he didn't die from crashing to the ground. Once it rained, Everett tried to transform again, so I glowed as brightly as I could, and my light blinded him. He was distracted, and Kady crushed him with a big chunk of rock that came off the spire. Multiple times. So yeah. He's dead."

Fen nods sagely, endeared by how Alice has rambled on with pride about the way her girlfriend killed a guy. "Good riddance."

“Tell me about it. Margo spent nearly half her life chasing those people. It’s about time she catches a break.”

“Have you joined her on any missions?”

"Yeah. When Margo and her team had to travel far, they'd take the Muntjac, and Quentin and I would come with, plus another handmaiden and squire from the castle. Josh took my place on those missions after I snuck away and joined the Wolfs. I can't believe you knew Josh. Small world." Alice hugs her legs against her chest and rests her chin on her knees. "I miss Margo, as much as I can't imagine my life without Kady and the Wolfs now. I miss being her friend."

“Eliot told the same thing,” Fen says. “Margo seems to have that effect on people.”

Fen hasn’t had time to get to know Alice in the short two days she had at the Crater before the duel. Now that they’re catching up, she can understand why Margo has spoken about her former lady-in-waiting so fondly. Alice has a way of listening that makes people trust her with their secrets. She embraces people’s trust without an ulterior motive. To have a confidante like Alice must have meant everything to Margo when she was kept under lock and key.

“Go find her,” Alice says, ironically picking up what’s on Fen’s mind. “Tell her about your new power.”

“I don’t even know what I am.”

“I think you’re a different kind of psychic. An empath.”

“What’s that?”

“Margo will tell you if you ask her.”

“But she’s—”

Unconscious? Hurt? Busy with Eliot, a friend she has known for much, much longer?

“She’s awake. Eliot was in her room earlier, but last I checked, Quentin was trying to steal him away.”

Fen groans and pushes herself off the ground. Alice gives her another encouraging nod. 

Fen gives in and trudges up the mezzanine stairs, returning to the sleeping quarters at the upper level. After she leaves the engine room, she feels the tremor of heartbeats again. It grows stronger the further she walks down the hallway. It grows stronger as she approaches Margo's room, where the lights are off, and the door stands ajar, waiting.

* * *

The heartbeats steady themselves into a gentle rhythm when Fen steps into Margo's room. She shuts the door, then realizes she made a mistake when she attempts to venture further in and stumbles over a leg of a chair, or a desk; it's hard to tell in pitch-darkness.

“Fuck!” Fen hisses, then, remembering her manners, “Sorry! I mean, excuse me. I-I mean… Eliot? Are you still here?”

A night light turns on from an outlet in the corner. It glows a faint orange, sound-activated by Margo's laughter beneath a heap of blankets on the bed. The heap lowers until Margo's head pokes out from underneath in search of the intruder. 

"Eliot left. Quentin stole him from me," Margo whines.

Margo meets Fen's eyes and pats the space next to her on the bed, then turns around as fast as the bandages around her midsection allow. Fen sits at the edge of the mattress, brings her legs up, and then leans against the headboard.

Fen had expected Margo to be unconscious or passed out or asleep, though she had hoped for none of the above. Victoria had taken some Wolf-allied healers on board earlier, but Fen was too busy stepping back and giving everyone else space to fuss over Margo to make sense of who was doing what.

“How dare he,” Fen plays along.

“Traitor,” Margo echoes the sentiment. “I was abandoned in the name of cock.”

Margo reaches up from where she’s lying on her back and tugs Fen by the arm. Fen gives in and slides down until she’s lying beside her, and Margo gives her a spare pillow.

“Are you in pain?”

“What, like, emotional trauma? You’ll have to be more specific.” Margo is slurring a little. Then she laughs at her own self-deprecation before Fen can find an appropriate response. She must have received painkillers, or something. “I’m not mortally wounded, or bleeding, or, fuck, I don’t know, infected? Thanks for asking.”

“Did you get stitches?”

“A couple. It’s the toxins that are fucking with me.”

“The-the what?”

“ _ Tox-ins, _ ” Margo says again, uttering the syllables one by one. “They act slow. Mellow? The healers said Irene’s knife was tainted with it. She had it all planned. She’d hidden it on her person in case I was too close to winning. They're supposed to kill me slowly, but we’ll get to the Wellspring and they’ll wash it out of my system and I won’t die. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You sure you’re not hurting?”

“Feels like burning. Like warm little tickles under my skin.” Margo wiggles her fingers in the air to demonstrate her point.

Fen squirms away in fear of another tickle-attack, a reaction Margo finds delightful. “That’s not what burning feels like.”

"I don't burn. My skin cools itself when it touches fire."

"Huh." Fen muses before asking, "Anything I can do?"

Margo tilts her head in Fen’s direction, watching her in heavy-lidded eyes. “Stay.”

“Stay the night?”

“Stay ‘till we get to the Wellspring. I’m not leaving this room. Too many people out.”

“Okay.”

Margo reaches over to comb Fen’s hair with her fingers. Her touch lingers at Fen’s cheek before she pulls her arm back. “The rain did something. You feel different.”

Fen pouts. “I was going to surprise you.”

“You did surprise me. So?”

“Alice has theories about the rain, me, my discipline… She says I’m an empath.”

“I knew an empath once. Wisteria was her name. She worked as a chambermaid. She was one of those magician kids that Everett brought in.” With a chuckle, Margo adds, “I’m pretty sure she hated me. Maybe it was my aura; maybe it was my title as the crown princess. Can’t blame her.”

The painkillers are making Margo spill her emotions without holding back. It doesn’t feel right to bombard her with questions she otherwise wouldn’t have asked, but if she’s bringing things up, there must be a part of her that trusts Fen to listen without taking advantage of her truths. That alone warms Fen’s heart.

Margo picks up her blanket and flings it over to cover Fen. Fen tucks them both in properly and settles beside her. This is going to be a long night of talking about feelings. 

“It’s not your aura that she hates. It can’t be,” Fen says. “I’ve sensed it. It’s the feeling of heartbeats. It’s… nice.”

“Auras aren’t fixed. That’s what I was taught,” Margo explains. “They’re personal. My aura depends on how I’m feeling and who’s reading me.”

“I was worried about you earlier, but I figured Eliot was with you. I thought I’d give you some space. The heartbeats tell me you’re okay.”

Underneath the blanket, Margo’s hand finds hers. “I’ve had worse.”

Fen frowns, and Margo tightens her hold on her hand but looks away. Margo’s aura of heartbeats feel more intense, but Fen finds the rhythm soothing despite the way their conversation is turning. “You don’t have to share anything,” Fen assures her.

“It’s not something I want to hide,” Margo says. She sounds more awake now, her emotions bare and unfiltered. Either the painkillers are wearing off, or her feelings are so certain that the words come out instinctively. 

“Okay.”

“Eliot and I were best friends not long after he joined us at Blackspire, even though he hated me at first, because why wouldn’t he? But when we got older, he told me Stormhold was starting to feel like home. More of a home than what he had with his parents. And after Marina left, my father wanted a new crownguard, and Eliot volunteered himself. He went through trials for me. Dueled people twice his size. But he won. He still brags about it like he’s top shit.”

“That does sound like him.”

"His task was standing guard outside my door at night. We spent a lot of nights, just… talking. Sometimes we'd sneak out. Zelda's bookstore wasn't too far once he figured out how to levitate us. It was like flying."

“I’m glad you had someone like him.”

Margo lets go of Fen’s hand. “We got antsy from staying inside all the time. The Deserters were stirring all kinds of shit, and we wanted to play out part. Be heroes, or something. You know the rest. Junior Centurion Guards. My little squadron, my ‘super-elite team of warriors’, that’s what the Stormhold Gazette called it. We were successful—most of the time. But we grew up, and our missions got harder, and shit was complicated.  _ And _ Eliot and Q got over their four years of mutual pining and started banging and holding hands like the Gods intended.”

“You were growing apart?” Fen asks.

"We were," Margo says, "I understood, but I didn't want to bring it up. I didn't want to talk to Eliot about our future. I tried to convince myself that he needed me, because he told me Stormhold was his family now, but that was all bullshit. And Alice joined the Wolfs when I was seventeen, and Micah died a year after that. You know about Prince Micah?"

“Yeah. I’ve heard.”

“I needed Eliot more than the other way ‘round. But I didn’t ask him if he wanted to go. If he wanted to leave Blackspire and live his life. And he never brought it up—we stuck with each other until we were nineteen. That’s when the raid with George happened.”

“The one where Eliot almost got killed?” Fen asks, remembering Margo’s confession last night when she was trapped in the form of a bunny.

“Selfish,” Margo says as she nods, her voice breaking. “I was selfish, and I wanted my friend.”

Fen touches her arm wordlessly, avoiding the bandage around her waist. 

“It was shitty when I’d get myself hurt,” Margo continues, “but I’d heal. It was always worse when it was Eliot, which happened a lot. My father commended him for it every time like he was just doing his job.”

“He was doing it as a friend.”

“That was the problem. None of my friendships were made equal ‘cause I was the princess, no matter how I asked to be treated. Eliot was a crownguard, and he was my subject. George stabbed him with a cursed blade during that raid. The Vorpal Blade. It was ancient—everyone believed it was a myth.”

"I know that story," Fen remembers the cautionary tale she was taught in school, the one Fogg once used to warn the kids against messing with ancient artifacts. "Vines grow from the wound. They'll strangle the victim unless there's a sacrifice."

“Something that represents the thing they love most,” Margo finishes the story for her. “That’s how I lost my crystal, the amplifier for mental warding like the one I gave you. Eliot had one, too. Mayakovsky gave those to us so we’d keep our secrets safe. So my father wouldn’t pry and figure out how close we were. I burned both crystals, mine and his—mine alone wasn’t enough.”

Fen touches her own crystal around her neck, a delicate reminder of how precious memories can be. Burning the crystals didn’t mean Margo or Eliot would forget the past they’d shared—Fen knows this, but she understands what it meant for Margo and Eliot’s future. Now that their minds were compromised and vulnerable, they had to move on.

"That day, I realized I had to make a choice. I had the authority to make Eliot stay if I wanted, but I'd lose him as a friend. He'd still be my crownguard, and one day he might have shielded me from another blade and sacrificed his life. Or I could let him go, and I'd still lose him, but the freedom would save him. He was so close to dying for me once. I promised myself to never let this happen again."

Something clicks once Fen hears the whole story, a piece of her jumbled memories of the battle hours earlier, when Margo had sacrificed her cacodemon, her final defense, to save her best friend. Fen had been down on the streets three blocks away when it happened. She had been terrified during the moment Margo was left defenseless. But Margo? Margo had risked her life without a pause like she had made the decision a long time ago. 

“Is that why you gave up your cacodemon for him?”

Margo looks at her. “What kind of best friend would I be if I cocked out of my last promise?”

“It was brave.”

“You would’ve done the same thing.”

Fen shakes her head. This is a compliment she can’t accept. In return for all that Margo has told her, she repays the honesty with her own story. “I made a hard decision once. It’s not the same thing as what you went through, but I chose wrong, and Julia got hurt. She could have died. I had a chance to do what you did, but I fucked it up.”

Fen tells Margo the story of Baylor and the FU fighters, and the offer he made that day at Wishmaster Square: how she had immediately rejected the offer out of principle, but Julia had considered the offer a different way and saw it as a chance to save Josh. They had both done things they wish they could take back. Fen should have gone with Julia anyway, not because she agrees with the means, but because she never wanted to turn her back on her friend.

But she didn't. She had let Julia go on the mission with the FU fighters alone, even though she’d worried about the possibility of losing Julia to the Reclamationists, too. In the end, her decision to stay home was made out of spite, not principle. And the mission went awry as Fen had feared, and to save herself, Julia had to steal from the Wellspring. Though Julia had stolen magic in self-defense, not out of greed, her action had aligned her with the very people who ruined her life. Fen blames herself for letting it happen.

Margo shakes her head. “You don’t know what could’ve happened if you’d gone with her. You both could’ve died. Everett had plenty of cronies to wipe you all out.”

“I know,” Fen says, “but I could have at least tried to protect her.”

“Is Julia still mad at you for letting her go alone?”

“No, of course not.”

Margo shuts her eyes. Even with Margo’s mind tightly warded, Fen can hear bits and pieces of her thoughts as if she is letting Fen in intentionally. 

“I spent two years being pissed at myself for holding Eliot back,” Margo says, mulling over her words with deliberation, “but earlier, before you came in here, we talked things over again. He said staying with me for so long was his choice as much as mine. I asked if he forgave me, and he told me there was nothing to forgive. He was never mad at me.”

“I know Julia feels the same way. She never blamed me, only herself."

“You and I should meet them in the middle, don’t you think?" Margo asks. "Try to forgive ourselves? I know it’s a lot harder than forgiving a friend.”

Fen moves closer, her head crossing the space between their pillows, and touches Margo's cheek. It's a bold gesture, considering how much Margo retaliates against the warm-and-cuddly, but it's telling that Margo lets her do it without protest. 

“You’re right,” Fen says, “forgiving ourselves is easier said than done, but we can try.”


	16. Queen Margo the Destroyer

The rain, it turns out, has done more than giving and taking magic. On Margo's second day in the Neitherlands, after her stitches are replaced with the fancier kind, and her veins are rid of all toxins, Calypso visits her in the infirmary and tells her Castle Blackspire has repaired itself. As a structure built by the nymphs, the castle has intrinsic properties of self-preservation. The ambient energy distributed by the Wellspring downpour has given the castle enough power to restore itself to its former glory.

Mira and Hannah are pulling up maps to decide which regions to unleash the rain upon next, with Calypso holding the fort back in her lab at the Neitherlands in charge of the valves that will open or close each Junction. Josh has returned home to his parents, but Julia and Harriet have relocated to Stormhold to dedicate themselves to the Free Trader Beowulf, and Quentin is spending time with the Wolfs to catch up with Julia. But Eliot has stayed, for once choosing Margo over his Q, for which Margo is grateful.

And Fen—Fen hasn’t left Margo’s side since they’d spent the night on the Muntjac after she’d destroyed Irene McAllister beyond resurrection.

The worst part is how accustomed Margo is to having a Fen by her side, despite the historical evidence of her past failed relationships. But she can’t compare her past with now, not when shit’s about to change in this kingdom thanks to a failed usurpation and two dead public enemies. Rafe has reached out to the Neitherlands with details about a new coronation. This time it’ll be a closed event, which will be recorded by a third-party videographer from an independent business.

After spending three more days in the Neitherlands, coddled by her overtly affectionate mother and a quietly apologetic stepmom to balance out the flood of warmth, Margo returns to Castle Blackspire via shortcut thanks to the Muntjac and Penny. She lands on the battlement with her select coronation guests, and crowds of civilians gather in the streets to witness her entry with an air of intrigue. Though the castle is restored, it remains on lockdown. Kady has assigned Wolfs to put up new wards around the perimeter that no former military ally of McAllister could have anticipated.

Margo returns to her bedroom in the west tower and spends the remaining morning staring at the wall. Two weeks ago, she lived here as a different person, with no assassinated fathers or anonymous tip-offs or impending threats from her enemies. No Eliot. No Fen. And she had run away thinking everything was happening so fast. But they weren't. It was organic, the way Margo's life pieced together after it fell apart, starting with the cute stranger who fell out of the sky and barreled into her path like a shooting star.

Her friends wander the castle while she’s alone with her thoughts, guided by Eliot and Alice, who remember every corner of this place. At noon she is roused from her uncharacteristic melancholy by a soft knock on her door that she recognizes as Alice. She opens the door for her and sees two lunches on a tray, and they eat out on the balcony like they used to, and Margo listens to her ramble about living with the Wolfs. She expects to feel sad about missing out on Alice’s life, but she doesn’t.

“I had Acacia work on a coronation outfit for you while you recovered,” Alice says. “There wasn’t time to make something from scratch, so we had to improvise.”

“She came back?” Margo asks.

Acacia had worked as a seamstress for the royal family since before Margo was born. With the castle evacuated under Irene's orders, Margo has expected most of the staff to take off and never return—except Rafe and Tick, who have become part of the castle itself, as ridiculous as the notion may seem.

“Most of the girls did, even Wisteria. The rest went home to find their families. Some said they’d like to come back to visit if you’ll allow it.”

There are countless people scattered around the kingdom who have been taken here unwillingly. The borders are currently a mishmash of runes cast by Wolfs and members of the army who remain loyal to the crown, allowing people to go back to the lives they'd left behind. Part of the original wards' enchantment flows through the power of the crown itself, though, so once Margo's coronation is done, the wards will rise back up into an impenetrable dome, now at Margo's mercy to alter itself on her wish.

“Tell them I’ll see to it as soon as I get that crown on my head.”

Alice forwards the message and brings Margo back into the room. The trays stay on Margo’s vanity, though it has taken some convincing for Alice to leave them there. Her days as a lady-in-waiting are over, but she asks to dress Margo up for her formal appearance one last time, and Margo honors the request. With help from Acacia—who is also a telekinetic, though she uses her powers for sewing instead of combat—Alice brings the mannequin with Margo’s coronation outfit into her room.

Instead of a dress, Acacia has designed a black jumpsuit with a crimson-red cape stiff enough to hold its shape. The cape is fastened onto the shoulders by metal caps similar to the ones on Margo's armor. Freya, who drops in after Margo tries on the jumpsuit, brings matching metal cuffs and a brooch representing Margo's axes. After thanking Acacia, the seamstress excuses herself, and Freya follows suit with the lunch trays in hand, leaving Margo alone with Alice.

“I like it,” Margo says, sitting at her vanity. “This was your idea?”

Alice, flustered by the compliment, sits on the armrest of Margo’s vanity chair and peers into the mirror at her friend. “Your people remember you by the battles you fought. Not only with McAllister, but with the Deserters, too, all those years ago. Kady told me what those soldiers said that day at the catacombs. You protect your people. That’s what makes you you.”

Margo hugs her around the waist. “What if people see it differently? I overpowered the opposition. McAllister and I both had claims to the throne. I happened to be the victor.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

At her questioning look, Alice tells her to wait, and runs out of the room, calling for Kady. She returns with a tablet a few minutes later and shows Margo a footage. A surveillance bot had captured a scene from Margo's duel: Eliot tackling Gavin to the ground and knocking him out with endless punches. Paloma hovering close behind Eliot when his back is turned, a maniacal glee on her face and a dagger in hand. The camera turns to show Margo's horror as she watches the confrontation unfold. She closes her eyes and utters the codewords that released the cacodemon from her back, which frees Eliot and kills Paloma before fading into a wisp of smoke, leaving Margo at Irene's mercy.

“How many people have seen it?”

“Zelda had the idea to fly in bots of our own,” Alice says. “No one would’ve noticed a few extras that day. One of them captured this footage, and the Wolfs found a way to share it over the network with everyone. Now it’s all over the news.”

“And the people aren’t bitching about me anymore?” Margo asks, setting down the tablet.

Alice chuckles. “For once, no.”

For once, the media has given Margo a break. Not that she wants to bask in the spotlight from all this. Saving Eliot over herself is personal, not a political agenda to win people over, but if the deed does the job of humanizing her, she won’t complain.

A loose comb runs through Margo's hair, untangling the knots. Alice is back at work, getting Margo ready for the coronation, and Margo closes her eyes and lets Alice take control of the warrior's braid that will add the final touch to her coronation outfit. Her touch is familiar, and something Margo hasn't realized just how much she'd missed.

There’s no getting used to it, though; after Margo is crowned, and their lives fall into a new normal, Alice will return with Kady to the Crater and continue to lead the Wolfs by Sheila’s side. Zelda, on the other hand, has accepted Margo’s request to be her advisor. She has resigned from the Wolfs, and sold her newly-refurbished shop to an eager new nerd who graduated from the Purchas Academy just outside the district.

Everyone has decided on what to do in the new-and-improved kingdom with Margo's blessing, but there is one person Margo hasn't asked. She hopes Fen will bring up the topic herself, but for now, Margo focuses on the coronation, willing herself to stop stressing over the inevitable conversation. She doesn't want to put Fen on the spot and make her feel obliged to stay. If Fen wants to give Stormhold a chance, she deserves the chance to decide it for herself.

“You can look now,” Alice says.

Margo looks at her reflection and smiles. “It’s perfect. As always.”

Alice hugs her from behind the chair before stepping aside to prepare Margo’s makeup. The door cracks open again, and Marina peeks her head in. “Are we done with emotions now?”

“How long have you been standing there?” Margo asks.

Marina makes a face of disgust that convinces no one. “Long enough. I’m here for my hug. Get up. Bring it.”

Margo walks into Marina's open arms and engulfs her in a hug tighter than normal to spite her. After three whining grumbles from Marina, Margo lets go of her with a smirk. Marina rolls her eyes at the pettiness but surrenders herself to staying in Margo and Alice's company. Marina sits at the edge of her bed to chime in to their conversation about future career plans. She's staying, of course, now that a notable chunk of Deserters have been stripped of their powers by magic rain, and her felony record will be rebooted on the future Queen Margo's authority.

“You sure you’re okay with losing your Shade again?” Margo asks.

"I'll be part of your inner circle, won't I? You can keep an eye on me. Throw me in the dungeons if I lose it. Anna will be under house arrest, drunk on a shitload of feelings. I don't think either of us will be much threat to Your Majesty."

In some twisted sense of fate, Anna, of all the Deserters present in Ogygia when it rained, still has her magic. Calypso's theory is that Prometheus has never based his judgment on the here-and-now. He sees potential and decides whether someone is worth taking a risk for, and Anna has been given that chance, though her power is less potent now like her drive to invade people's minds has been washed away.

Many of Margo's former enemies may be too far gone for redemption, but she gives Anna a chance for Marina's sake. Marina will take full responsibility for potential relapses of villainy and other such chaos. Anna will stay at Ellsworth Downs, a rehabilitation center built by the nymphs that neutralizes magic within its walls. There are only two buildings like this in Stormhold, preserved from the Age of the Gods, but Calypso is searching for old blueprints that will help her design more.

“I think it’s very kind of you,” Alice says. “Giving up your Shade can’t have been easy.”

Marina side-eyes the word “kind” but shrugs in some semblance of acceptance. “I’ve done it once. I can do it again.”

* * *

The coronation goes off without further fuckery, and by nightfall, Margo is officially Queen Margo of Stormhold. After getting a full lecture from Rafe about the runic formulas of the ward and requesting an alteration that will allow old acquaintances from other kingdoms to return, her second order of business is attending a banquet in her honor. No cameras at all this time—even the windows are covered by illusions in place of regular curtains, set up by Harriet to ensure no bots can spy on the attendees from outside the castle.

The banquet is not a banquet so much as a family reunion—a family by choice, except for Mira, the only blood relative. Penny and Victoria had blipped in and out of Stormhold with the Muntjac's loophole as a buffer, bringing everyone that Margo has invited. Hannah has requested help from a dozen chefs in the Neitherlands to put together the last-minute dishes, and with Josh's cooking spells, the food turns out fancier than expected. Everything is served buffet-style so the castle staff can have a free evening to mingle with the guests. 

Eliot gives a toast to Queen Margo, who sits next to him at a round table near the front of the throne room. Margo is on equal grounds with all her guests, who cluster themselves around different tables of their own choice to mingle. This arrangement has made the atmosphere much friendlier than the banquets Margo has attended growing up. Eliot takes advantage of this eased tension to bring up old stories from their days dicking around the castle as children, or from their missions as the Junior Centurion Guards—mostly embarrassing stories, because he's the worst. But Margo wouldn't change a thing about this night.

Other than Eliot's long-winded speech that has the whole room laughing, Margo lets her guard down and enjoys Fen's company on her other side, mostly in the form of trying to tickle each other under the table, with an occasional handhold or two. In between enjoying her food and enjoying her Fen, Margo keeps an eye on her friends, deftly avoiding the googly eyes Eliot and Quentin are giving to one another with no subtlety. Alice and Kady sit across from her, all sappy and in love with much more subtlety.

And, at the table next to theirs, Penny and Julia are having a quiet but intense conversation that ends with Julia’s face lit up in glee and Penny’s face in a hint of—is that a grin? Penny had almost excused himself earlier, after he’d transported all the guests here, but Julia had bullied him into staying and told him there was no way she’d let him wander into the night alone and miss out on free food. So far, Julia might be the only person Penny hasn’t hated upon a first impression.

Margo stays long after the food has been cleaned out by hungry guests, and the buffet chafers have relocated to a magically-charged soap bath in the kitchen sink. Most guests at the banquet have retreated to guest chambers or requested a Traveler-lift home in groups. She can take care of the queen stuff tomorrow, but now sleep is the only thing on her mind. Well, sleep, and a certain woman beside her who has had one too many servings of Eliot's yet-unnamed cocktail, who is beginning to get snuggly, among other things Margo wishes to reserve under more private circumstances with her.

Because, of course, Fen is a sappy drunk.

Julia asks Penny to promise to stick around and wait for her. Then she comes to Margo’s rescue and coaxes Fen to leave the throne room, and escorts Fen back to Margo’s old bedroom per her request. Margo may be queen, but she is not spending her night with Fen at the chamber that her father died in, and she’s planning to remodel that room to serve a different purpose.

Which leaves Margo and Eliot alone in the room. They put back their chairs, turn the lights off, then take the scenic route back to the west tower by crossing through the garden.

"You can take some time off, if you want," Margo says. "The queenly errands will take a while. I have shit I need to sort out that the council can't help with."

“Are you firing me before I even start the job?” Eliot teases.

"Shut up." Margo shoves him into the unique topiary shaped like a dick—she still doesn't know what it's supposed to be, but anyway. "What I mean is, if you want to travel some more, joining the Queen's Council can wait. You spent two years flying above clouds and adventuring and… I don't want you to feel… stuck."

“Stuck?” Eliot stops walking and spins her around to face her. “Your Majesty, you astound me.”

“ _El._ I’m serious.”

Eliot lowers himself on one knee and kisses the back of her hand. “Q and I have seen the best in the world there is to see. I want to try living on land again, maybe settle down, family, whatever nice domestic shit there is to try. What better place to do it than with Margo? Queen Margo. Your Royal Fucking Highness.”

Margo rolls her eyes.

“Queen Margo the Destroyer,” Eliot says, rising again. “I would be honored to stand by you.”

“You mean it?”

They continue their walk with Eliot’s arm around her shoulder, and Margo smiles for who knows how many times that night.

“It takes more than killer vines to get rid of me.” Eliot rustles her hair. “I’m staying.”

* * *

Eliot says goodnight at the second-floor landing of the spiraling stairs to the west tower, then leaves for the guest chamber he shares with Quentin. Margo picks up her pace the rest of the way, but sees Julia waiting beside her door, which stands ajar. Fen's aura is infectious, projecting its way from inside the room: the rough texture of tree barks, undoubtedly drawn from the Darkling Woods where she and Julia used to hunt.

Fen and Julia may have broken up as a couple, but the bond of a best friend doesn’t falter at the sign of a new romance blooming its way in. Margo inclines her head in greeting. “Thanks for escorting her back.”

“No worries.” Julia chuckles and peeks inside the room before she adds, “Fen isn’t much of a drinker. So. No hard booze.”

“Rule number one for courting Fen?” Margo asks, only half-joking.

“Something like that.”

Julia studies her, and Margo allows herself to be scrutinized. Their short staring contest ends in a draw, and Julia offers a tiny smile, which Margo takes as a sign of approval.

“I do care for her,” Margo says. “But I’m not going to assume anything. If she wants to stay, she’ll be welcome to. If she doesn’t—”

“I think she will,” Julia cuts in. “We’ve been growing apart for some time. I’m glad she ran into you. I’d hoped she’d find something good about this kingdom, even if I couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry that you were banished. I’m apologizing on my father’s behalf.”

“I appreciate that. But I’m okay now. I don’t blame you.”

"And I'm sorry if I'm getting too personal, but if you need any help? Magic help? With your powers? Zelda is on my council, and I know you will be with the Wolfs, but she's only a mirror-portal away. And my door's always open."

Julia looks surprised but not offended, which is much better than how Margo expects this offer to go. “I’d like that.”

“Okay.”

Before Margo can say goodnight and go inside her room, Julia shuts the door ajar. “Wait,” she says in a lower voice. “There’s something else.”

Margo lets her continue.

"I don't know how much Fen told you about us, and about Wall, and how we got involved with the Wolfs... But I want to share something about her. I know she blames herself, and the way I see it, it was my fault, but—about a year ago, I did something that hurt her. Betrayed her. I thought I was redeeming myself, but I was working with… people that hated magic. People that Fen didn't want to associate with, because neither of us believed what they did, but I was—I was stupid, and desperate, and I got into trouble. Has Fen mentioned any of this to you?"

“Some parts,” Margo says. “Tell me your side.”

“I stole magic—I know you know this part—but I stole magic, and I got out, and I thought Fen would never forgive me. And I thought I deserved that. But she forgave me the moment I came home. She was at my house, and she was waiting, and she told me she was so relieved I was safe. Even when I came clean about the magic part, she forgave me. And she told me magic was lucky to have me. That’s why I’ve been learning to use this power, you know. ‘Cause she had faith in me, so I hate myself less, so I’m trying.”

“From what she told me about you, I think she wants you to be happy. And she was never mad.”

“It’s harder to forgive myself.”

“I know a thing or two about that,” Margo says. “But with Fen saying all those nice things, it gets easier. I’m lucky to have her.”

“You are,” Julia says.

“Is that why you waited for me? To tell me not to fuck with her heart?”

“Yes.”

“I like you.” Margo holds out her hand. “I promise I will be good to her heart.”

Julia accepts the handshake. “You break it, I’ll break you.”

* * *

Margo finds Fen sitting on her bed, fiddling with the fabric of her canopy. She is draping it around herself like a gown and humming a tune like a song Josh used to sing around the kitchen. Even then, newly captive and stuck in a strange land, Josh had lived with an unfathomable optimism. Something she recognizes in Fen, too.

One of them has rubbed off on the other. Or perhaps Fen and Josh are drawn to each other because this is a shared quality. Regardless, Margo can use some of their influence, even if she is not the happy-go-lucky type.

“Oh, _heyyyyy_.” Fen lets the fabric of the canopy fall over her shoulders. “Margo. Margo! Look, I’ve got a cape!”

“That’s very nice, Fen,” Margo plays along.

Margo climbs onto the bed from the other side and puts a hand on Fen’s shoulders to steady her before she unzips Fen’s dress from the back. The dress is an old favorite of Fen’s that Julia has brought from home, and the only one that is more frilly than practical. It’s pastel-toned with flowers embroidered on the skirt, and it captures her spirit, and Margo may have been staring at her all evening because, fine, she will admit Fen looks cute in it—which is why it’d be a shame to fall asleep in it and get it all wrinkled.

That, and Margo also likes the idea of Fen borrowing her clothes.

Margo finds an extra nightgown and hands it to Fen, and turns around so they can both get changed without ogling each other, drunk or not. There are no curtains on her dropdown window, which leads to a balcony, but the glass is enchanted, so no camera or living being can see anything from outside in. With the view of the stars in sight, Margo sets down her crown on her nightstand, untangles her warrior's braid, and climbs under the blankets. Fen joins her in bed not long after, facing her and huddling close enough that Margo can see the sparkle of light reflected in her eyes.

“Something on your mind?” Fen asks.

“Not tonight.”

“Is this about the future? Like—like, my future?”

Fen may have had too much to drink, but it has affected her temperament more than her clarity of mind. So Margo responds, seeing no reason to dismiss the observation that may or may not have come from her new psychic powers. "I'm still working on the wards, the runes, the formulas… It's tricky. And I know your mom's going back home, and I understand if you want to do the same. But if you do go home, and you also want to come back sometime, we can figure something out—"

A finger on Margo’s lips silences her mid-sentence. “Shhhh,” Fen shushes her before breaking into giggles. “What makes you think I wanna go back?”

“You don’t want to go back?”

Fen turns and flops onto her back. “Eventually. Home visits, picking up my knives at the Forge, that kind of thing. But there’s no rush.”

That is a positive confirmation that Fen wants to stay, but Margo won't hold her to this. If she changes her mind tomorrow when she sobers up, or a week later, or a month later… Margo is open to working things out. For now, she is pleased with the reply. Even more so with the fact that Fen hasn't hesitated at all before answering in the affirmative.

“I want to offer you a place on my council. Your advice would be very helpful.”

“Just my advice?”

Apparently, under booze, Fen is also a shameless flirt. “And your cuddling,” Margo says. “I request your assistance in the form of cuddles. Happy?”

"I'm usually happy," Fen says. She bumps her shoulder against Margo's, then closes her eyes. "But, I'm happier to hear that you want my help with queenly matters."

“You can have a room here at the castle. Any room you want—we can decide after the guests from the banquet leave.”

“Okay.” Fen pulls the blanket higher and tucks her chin under it. “I like _your_ room, though.”

“You’re welcome to share my room. But it’d be nice to have a space of your own. You know, for your knives?”

Fen is nodding off, exhausted, the excitement of tonight catching up to her. Before she dozes off, she mutters, “My knives would love that.”

The excitement of tonight catches up to Margo, too. Now that she is safe, and she is the queen, and she has Fen, she thanks the stars outside her window for the life she has claimed for herself. A life where she doesn’t have to repeat the mistakes of the past. A life where she can stay true to herself and love freely when the world’s unkind.

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Margo says to Fen before she closes her eyes, her voice thick and her emotions an insufferable mess. “Please stay.”

Maybe, if Margo is lucky, Fen wouldn’t hear what she just said. Or maybe, if she is lucky, she would.


	17. Epilogue

**Two Years Later**

Margo stands at the balcony outside her bedroom window, her back tensing at the cold mist that settles over her skin. Her gown is modeled after the white enchanted cloak she had worn in Wildfaire, embroidered with gold and silver threads. The gown exposes Margo's back in a deep plunge, and she wears her hair up in a braided bun, no longer concealing her tattoo. Once upon a time, the cacodemon trap had been a burning secret, but now it symbolizes her promise to keep her best friend safe.

The fall equinox is fast approaching. This evening, visitors from five nations will be arriving at Castle Blackspire for the banquet, including the Queens of the Neitherlands, which has declared itself as an independent nation not long after Margo's coronation. Still, its location remains a classified secret. Celebrating the equinox is a new tradition, and Margo has the Council to thank for the preparations she has had to fuss over since midsummer.

Not that Margo wishes she still has the ultimate power to make laws. The age of absolute monarchies should have passed a long time ago, and while she isn't about to hire a horomancer to fix what was done before her time, she can make a difference in the present day by changing the way she runs her kingdom. Establishing the Council of Representatives has been her first order of business as Queen Margo. Nonetheless, she has brought back three advisors who had served her father and King Rupert before him, for their knowledge of the kingdom's history and the laws.

To balance out the old men who love the sound of their own voices (and to back up poor Tick and Rafe, who both seem like they want to retire in the next five years), Margo has added friends and allies to her Council. Fen and Alice represent foreign citizens affected by Stormhold's actions. Zelda and Marina have a say on mercy and rehabilitation in the justice system based on their personal experiences. And Eliot and Quentin are traveling the world as diplomats on Margo's behalf, convincing other nations to give Stormhold a chance.

All changes aside, there is no easy way to rid Stormhold of all its bullshit. The wards still shield the kingdom in a safe bubble away from the rest of the world, though Margo is reevaluating all the banishments her father and his deputies had issued to undo the ones placed on the innocent—if they choose to return, the wards will let them pass.

“You asked to see me, _my queen_?”

Margo recognizes Fen's aura before she hears her voice: the rough texture of tree barks and a rush of heat behind her cheeks when she blushes. She smiles and turns to admire Fen's gown, a rosy pink outfit that rivals the blush beneath her cheeks. Fen joins her at the railing and puts an arm behind her back to warm her up. The queen title had become a nickname of sorts, even though Margo had detested "Your Highness" when they first met. As the queen's girlfriend and a councilwoman, Fen brings a new meaning to the word, a respect between two leaders with a touch of affection.

Fen's dress matches her own and resembles the enchanted cloak she had worn when she walked into Wildfaire, holding Margo's hand. They hadn't visited the town since then, but the memory has a special place in their hearts, and they had agreed to call Wildfaire their first date even though the date had ended with Fen turning into a bunny.

“I want to spend some time alone before the castle is crawling with presidents and monarchs and nosy diplomats,” Margo says. “Remind me again why we have to hold the banquet?”

“Transparency, goodwill, fantastic scenery?” Fen says. “No one has stepped foot in Stormhold since—well, since it became Stormhold.”

Margo grumbles but stops whining. The banquet is Margo's idea, though the festival itself is the Council's. The queen and the Council both have the power to propose laws and contest the other party's proposals, and the ultimate decision has to be endorsed by all parties before the law is put into effect. Ultimately, Margo hopes to step down from her throne and opt for a democratic governance structure, but this change takes longer than lowering the wards. There are many, many negotiations she has to endure with the leaders of the other nations. If it weren't for Fen's people skills, Margo would have brought another War upon her kingdom.

“You’ll be at the banquet to keep me in line?” Margo asks.

_I promise to stop you before you can insult any idiots in your presence,_ Fen thinks, projecting the thought into Margo’s mind.

_I see the lessons are going well,_ Margo thinks back.

Fen begins to formulate a thought, then groans in defeat and goes back to speaking. “Penny’s nicer when he’s teaching. Kind of.”

Along with a new relationship, Fen has acquired a magical gift on her journey to bring her friend home. The thunderstorm on the day of Irene's defeat is to blame. It took a few days for Margo and her friends to understand the extent to which the Wellspring rain replaced the Junctions system. The District of Ogygia had been Calypso's first test subject. When that experiment was deemed a success, Mira and Hannah recruited other fulminokinetics and hydromancers to bring the storm across all of Stormhold, followed by the whole world. Within six months, all Junctions have been discontinued except for those at the bottom of the ocean. And not only has the ambient power seeped into the earth itself, but more people have woken up with the gift of magic.

People like Fen, who Prometheus would have deemed worthy to help bring peace to the world, are coming to terms with their newfound power. Fen has been studying from other psychics, though her discipline takes on a different nuance to the connection she can make. As an empath, her power manifests in the ability to read auras and project her own. Beyond that, Fen is still capable of the standard telepathy and mind-reading, though she insists people's auras get in her way unless she is emotionally bonded with her target.

“That’s not bad,” Margo says. “You see anything good in Penny’s head?”

“Margo!”

“What? It’s not every day you get to spy on a mind-slut.”

"He gave me a few glimpses into his head as a demonstration. It's all Julia these days."

Margo arches an eyebrow. “Is he trying to make you jealous?”

“He wouldn’t dare.” Fen turns Margo around, and they touch their nose before leaning in for a quick kiss.

“Wait.” Margo pulls away. “I need to ask you something.”

Margo puts her hand inside her pocket—a feature she has requested the seamstress to add to her gown—and brings out a velvet box. Stepping back, she gets down on one knee and opens it to reveal the ring. The ring is shaped like a butterfly with wings made of silver filigree, another tribute to their Wildfaire adventure. In the center is an amethyst in place of the butterfly’s thorax, its color as gentle as it is regal.

"I know an assassin is still out there somewhere in the world, bound by a Word as Bond, and okay, it's kind of my fault for letting her sneak away," Margo begins, "but the Bond only tells her to kill the King of Stormhold, and, well, he's dead, which is the whole reason you're here. My world is changing, too fucking quickly if you ask me, but I'm not going back to the way it was. To a time before you crashed into me with that orbital death machine and got in my fucking way—and saved my life in the end, so not a terrible experience."

There are tears in Fen's eyes, but she's not running away, or shaking her head. And her aura is growing more intense, all projected for Margo to feel at this moment. Plus, she's laughing at Margo's joke, which can't be a bad sign.

"Someday, this kingdom won't be a kingdom anymore," Margo continues, "and we can have some fucking peace and quiet. No world leaders at our banquets, no stuffy advisors, no media vultures with flying cameras… Those changes take time, but life happens now, and I want to spend that life with you. Will you be my queen?"

“You want to marry me because I’d be unaffected by the Word as Bond?”

“That’s part of it,” Margo plays along. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes.”

Fen lets Margo put the ring on her hand before they kiss again in pure pre-marital bliss. Fen projects Margo's own aura for her without breaking the kiss: the steady beating of a heart and the crack of an ice bridge forming across raging waters. They're both giggling when they finally pull apart to breathe. Their moment is interrupted by a cranky squirrel standing on the branch of a nearby tree.

"Get a room!" it hollers before scampering away.

The talking animals are another change that the magic rain has brought to the world, but the novelty has worn off pretty quickly after pigeons started cussing people out. But Margo ignores the squirrel for the time being. If she’s planning to introduce democracy into her kingdom, the talking animals will likely get a vote. She won’t burn a bridge before it’s even built.

“We should go back in,” Fen says, taking Margo’s hand. She swings their arms and leads them back into the bedroom they share before casting a rune to shut the balcony door.

They flop onto their bed and lay there, staring at the top of the purple canopy. Soon, the castle will be overrun with distractions in the form of visitors, so Margo cherishes whatever time they have left. She turns around and finds Fen staring back at her with a cheeky grin.

“What?” Margo asks.

“You mentioned the orbital death machine. Does this mean you’re building me a new hovercraft?”

“The Muntjac isn’t good enough for you?”

“She’s _your_ friend.”

"Once you're queen, she'll follow your orders, too."

“That’s not a nice way to earn her respect.”

“She loves you. You know she does.”

"A motorcycle would be nice. You can hand over Gallop, and we'll call it even."

“ _Fen_ ,” Margo warns.

Fen responds with a growl.

“I’m kidding,” Margo says. She tips her chin and plants a kiss on Fen’s nose, which makes her laugh. “I’ll build you a new one. Whatever makes you happy.”

_You make me happy,_ Fen thinks, and Margo hears everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this fic. I hope it has hit all your emotional spots and given you an abundance of wholesomeness and shipperly joy. I would love to hear from you!
> 
> I will continue to write for this fandom, but I think I need a break from massive plotting and stressful climaxes. (She says after taking a nine-month break following her previous massive fic posting.) So I have a few smaller ideas in the work that I may or may not flesh out in the near future. No promises, but if you would like to shadow me (preferably not in the Paloma way) and stick around for any future works of mine, please know that I appreciate your support :D
> 
> I'm always down for chatting and making new friends, so if you want to scream feels at me in private or ask about my next big fic idea(s), you can find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/chaptersonetoinfinity).


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